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"But the Italians, like most southern nations, delight exceedingly in the uncontrolled play of the imagination, and they abandon themselves to all its brilliant illusions, with no other object in view than mere recreation. An Englishman looks for a moral, or at least for some sort of instruction, from the wildest work of fiction. But an Italian goes to it, as he would go to the opera; to get impressions, rather than ideas. He is extremely sensible to the fine tones of his native language, and under thecombined influence produced by the coloring of a lavish fancy, and the music of a voluptuous versification, he seldom stoops to a cold analysis of its purpose or its probability."
--- North American Review, October 1824.
These images can be interpreted as illusions of a forgotten time. Or as impressions of a remembered past. Not always clear and focused, but somehow familiar. Together they present an Italian atmosphere not always convenient for understanding purpose or probability. Yet they speak of a human reality. A solidness of building and monument.
A tender moment of compassion and hope.
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