Fan mille affetti insieme
Battaglia in me spietata.
Un’alma lacerata
Più della mia non v’è.

coverjunkie:

Time

‘the world’s most exclusive club’ on this new Time issue.

Editor in Chief: John Huey
Design director: D.W. Pine
Director of photography: Kira Pollack
International Art Director: Victor Williams

But Sidney, you make a living. Where do you want to get?

Way up high, Sam, where it’s always balmy. Where no one snaps his fingers and says, “Hey, Shrimp, rack the balls!” Or, “Hey, mouse, mouse, go out and buy me a pack of butts.” I don’t want tips from the kitty. I’m in the big game with the big players. My experience I can give you in a nutshell, and I didn’t dream it in a dream, either - dog eat dog. In brief, from now on, the best of everything is good enough for me.

Now let’s just sit here and pretend we’re a couple o’ tramps.

One of her nipples was red, tepid, carnal; the other, blue, looked
made for death’s caress. They also brought to mind the luxuri-
ous faucets of a porcelain tub.

There’s a story of a woman who was devoured by the moon. It’s
said that her cries were made of silver.

Never write the words “tiger” and “dove” in the same line, for
the first may devour the second.

I was fascinated by the cloud the farmer kept anchored to the
door of his shack: “It’s very docile,” he explained, “and we milk
it three times a week. That’s all the land needs.”

I knew that he had assassinated the sea, for his hands were
stained blue.

“That swan is a rapist!” the frightened girl shouted at me, point-
ing at the erect neck of a ferocious swan. And I, who through
some strange interference shared her dreams, proposed at that
instant that we exchange nightmares.

The girls came running: “The sea, the sea!” they shouted.
“There’s a wave made of gold!”

I asked her to, I asked her like a child asking for the impossible: she
took off her shoes and clothes and walked all night long on the sea.

It was a forest of infinite trees, and each tree had a swing, and
in each swing was a dead child waiting to be resurrected.

A boy whose eyes were darkening asked me, “When I die, will
the sea cease to exist?” I chose not to disillusion him.

Well, I’ve wrestled with reality for 35 years, Doctor, and I’m happy to state I finally won out over it.

Is there any mail for me was the question that he asked
Of the postman at the closing of the day
But he turned away and cried while the tears stood in his eyes
As he drooped his head and slowly walked away

Was it from a gray haired Mother or a Sister or a Brother
He waited all these many years in vain
Of’t from early morning light he would wait till dark of night
For the letter but alas it never came

As he waited all these years joy mingled with his tears
His poor soul had fleeted out with the time
In his hand he held a note and those simple words he wrote
If the letter comes just place it by my side

Was it from a gray haired Mother or a Sister or a Brother
He waited all these many years in vain
Of’t from early morning light he would wait till dark of night
For the letter but alas it never came