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“Lo capì dalle prime righe, che Leonardo Villani non era solo uno dei più bei corpi che avesse mai avuto modo di ammirare. Era anche una delle menti più brillanti che avesse mai avuto modo di incontrare.”
― Di carne e di carta
― Di carne e di carta
“I will never leave him. It will be this, always, for as long as he will let me.
If I had had words to speak such a thing, I would have. But there were none that seemed big enough for it, to hold that swelling truth.
As if he had heard me, he reached for my hand. I did not need to look; his fingers were etched into my memory, slender and petal-veined, strong and quick and never wrong.
“Patroclus,” he said. He was always better with words than I.”
― The Song of Achilles
If I had had words to speak such a thing, I would have. But there were none that seemed big enough for it, to hold that swelling truth.
As if he had heard me, he reached for my hand. I did not need to look; his fingers were etched into my memory, slender and petal-veined, strong and quick and never wrong.
“Patroclus,” he said. He was always better with words than I.”
― The Song of Achilles
“«Parla di Dante come se ne fosse innamorata. Il suo ragazzo non è geloso?»
[..] «Chi mai potrebbe essere geloso di un mucchietto di polvere?»”
― Di carne e di carta
[..] «Chi mai potrebbe essere geloso di un mucchietto di polvere?»”
― Di carne e di carta
“«È evidente che lei conosce solo un modo per amare le cose: ci si butta a capofitto, le vede tutte rose e fiori. Come una ragazzina, appunto.»”
― Di carne e di carta
― Di carne e di carta
“I have done it," she says. At first I do not understand. But then I see the tomb, and the marks she has made on the stone. A C H I L L E S, it reads. And beside it, P A T R O C L U S.
"Go," she says. "He waits for you."
In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.”
― The Song of Achilles
"Go," she says. "He waits for you."
In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.”
― The Song of Achilles
emmdicarta’s 2025 Year in Books
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