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She too is enamoured of heavy winds, and vast panoramas, and green expanses of the sea.
this terrace was the well-head, the primal source whence beauty gushed out to water the earth.
Without was poured a sea of radiance; within, the glory, though visible, was tempered to the capacities of man.
After many conquests we shall attain simplicity.
“It is Fate that I am here,” persisted George. “But you can call it Italy if it makes you less unhappy.”
independence is a useful cry; we can always say that we have not got it.
where the eagles build and the bronze charioteer drives undismayed towards infinity.
