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Slow Dance

SLOW DANCE (*)

Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?

You better slow down.
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.

Do you run through each day on the fly?
When you ask how are you?
Do you hear the reply?
When the day is done!
Do you lie in your bed with the next hundred chores
running through your head?

You'd better slow down
don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.

Ever told your child, we'll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste, not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch, let a good friendship die
cause you never had time to call and say, "Hi"

You'd better slow down.
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.

When you run so fast to get somewhere
you miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
it is like an unopened gift.... thrown away.

Life is not a race.
Do take it slower
hear the music
before the song is over.

*This poem was written by a terminally ill young girl in a New York Hospital

thanks her in your way I pray

..................................... ...................................
................................................. .......................

really want to know when you love deeply
Leonardo da Vinci

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EGGS AND ..

A. Modigliani - 1914 - Rose Caryatid (Audace)

Norton Gallery of Art, West Palm Beach, FL, USA

In rebus quibuscumque difficilioribus not expectandum,
here ut simul et Serat, et metatarsals,
praeparatione sed opus est, ut per gradus maturescant

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farewell

SEE CARA

See dear,
is difficult to explain, it is
difficult to speak of the ghosts of a mind. See
dear,
all I can say is that I change a little each day '
is that they are different. See
dear,
sometimes in the sky like a kite in the wind
which then fall to the ground. See
dear,
hard to explain, it is difficult to understand if you did not already
. See
dear,
certain crises I am only a sign of something inside that is screaming to get out
. See
dear,
some days are a year, certain phrases are nothing
you do not need to hear. See
dear,
the seasons and the smiles that are money due to van spent
property. See
dear,
hard to explain, it is difficult to understand if you did not already
.

do not understand when I try one night in an atmosphere of mystery
it is difficult to grasp. When

laugh without moving my face, without a cry when I cry

when in fact I would scream. When I dream
behind phrases of songs, behind books and kites, behind what
that will not be. See
dear,
hard to explain, it is difficult to understand if you did not already
.

do not regret all that you gave me, who am I who created
and I could do it again now.
Although all my time with you because I do not forget
this time still lasts.
look no reason in a face, a name
the passion that makes me far now. See
dear,
hard to explain, it is difficult to understand if you did not already
.

You are very pretty and even if you do not see the
distance that is between my thoughts and yours.
You are everything, but everything is still just that, you're paying your game and you already
what you want.
I try again, and so do not panic when you hear
flees away the dream, I'm staying here.

Be glad the party that you have, you do what I
by those who blame no one knows. Search inside

order to understand what I feel, to feel that what I'm trying
is not new,
freedom! See
dear,
hard to explain, it is difficult to understand if you did not already.

FAREWELL

and smiled, and knew your smile with twenty years' brought the case, wearing a sweater
as pie on a pair of jeans;
as you feel the urge to live that
breaks a day and does not explain why:
rocked a thought or a love that is born and you do not know what it is.

long days between yesterday and tomorrow, strange days,
to wonder all day cos' era, see each other every night, every night
go on to get my funny with that ram Eastern
every night, a dance step, step
the stairs and hear your footsteps coming, the clink of your good humor,
when you opened the door a smile every time I entered the heart.

Then down at the bar where we meet, our alcove
was so able to speak, watching us play,
among friends who laugh and play around the tables full of wine, religion
pull the late morning and wait;
then one night you left to take you away, just the two of us in the fog and sentinel
the sleeping city was never so beautiful.

living was easy then every hour,
guitars and fleeting flashes of stories, loves birds of prey,
and every night a fantasy come up as good children of the 'new era,
every night seemed to call to life a try. But
amazed and happy that he was born we discovered something deeper, it seemed
d 'have found the secret key of the world.

It was not easy taking care of yourself, stay together or think
d 'have a future and stay away;
both to wonder: "Who is it?" In everything is a constant thought, a thought
shiny and hard as a diamond and every night let
take us away from a 'full emotion, not learned:
reunion was like being reborn again.

But every story has its conclusion, the same illusion,
sin was to believe a special ordinary story.
Now time will wear and it crushes every passing day running
seems ironic that penetrate and mocking look at us.
And indeed those heroes are no longer prepared to deal with each undertaking;
are only two leaves clinging to a branch on hold.

"The Triangle Tingles and plays the trumpet slow" ...

Farewell, and forgive me if I do not think I took away a bit of 'summer
with something as fragile as the stories go:
perhaps once could move you, but now I think it is useless, because
whenever you laugh or cry do not cry and laugh with me ...

Francesco Guccini

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INFINITELY

"I see the stars from flaming ,/.../ are immense and, in such a way / that point to their breasts are land and sea / ... / ... to my thought / that looks like then, or the offspring of man? " (Broom)

Giacomo Leopardi (1798-1837) - Infinity
written between 1819 and 1821 (it think between spring and autumn of 1819)

"Dark Valley 2004"

always fond of me was this hill and this hedge
that much of the last
horizon prevents me.
But as I sit and gaze,
boundless spaces beyond that, and superhuman
silences, and deepest quiet in
I thought I pretend, for just
where the heart is not alarmed. And as I hear the wind rustling through the trees
I
that infinite silence to this entry
comparing vo: and I am reminded of the eternal,
and the dead seasons and this
and alive, and the sound of it: So in this
immensity my thought is drowned:
and sweet to shipwreck in this sea.

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thin ..

Joan Miro

The thrush
Giacomo Leopardi (Recanati, 1798 - Naples, 1837)

D'
on the summit of the ancient tower,
Thrush, Singin 'in the campaign
go until the day more;
Ed wanders the harmony for this valley. Spring round

shines in the air, and they rejoiced fields, so that on
mirarla touches the core.
Odi bleating flocks, bellowing herds
Other birds happy to race together for the free sky
fan thousand revolutions,
While celebrating their best time: You
pensive on the sidelines all intended;
no companions, no flights
Do not you care for fun, Dodge amusements;
songs, and so transitions
year and your life the most beautiful flower.
Alas, how your costume looks
At my! Sollazzo and rice, sweet family
Della young age, and you
German youth, love, bitter sigh
de 'experienced days
do not care, I do not know how, and indeed they
Almost flee away;
Almost hermit, and strange
In my native place,
Pass my life in the spring.
ch'omai This day gives way to night,
Celebrate is the custom in our village.
Listen to the peaceful sound of a ringing,
Odi often a thunderclap of iron rods,
That echoes far away from town to town.
All dressed up the place

youth leave their homes, and in the streets is spreading, and is targeted
and aims, and in my heart rejoices.
I alone in this remote paths
part in the coming campaign, pleasure and play every

delay any longer: and meanwhile look
Lying in the air I aprica
beasts from the Sun that far mountains,
After day peaceful,
Falling vanishes, and
seems to say that the blessed youth faints.
You, solitary little bird, who came to Del
evening that will live for you the stars, of course, your costume

Dorrao not you, that nature is the result of your
Any vagueness.
To me, if you hated the threshold of old age

Do not implore,
silent when others' eyes these cores, and their
FIA vote, the world, and the future of day
this most boring and dismal, that Parr
of this desire? Which of these years my
? that of myself? Ah
pentirornmi, and often,
But sadly, volgerommi back.

Copacabana 2005 - Bird

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Magritte - The Treason Of Pictures - 1929

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POEMS of Pedro Salinas (1891 - 1951)

from "The Voice of you due" (1933)


XXXIX

The way to love your
and let me love you.
The yes with which you surrendered
is silence. Your kisses
lips offer me know because I
the kisses.
Mai words, hugs
me say that you existed
that you loved me: never .
tell me that white sheets,
maps, mobile, omens;
you, no.
And I'm hugging you
without asking anything for fear
that is not true
which you live, and love me. And I'm embraced

you without looking and without touching you.
Why should never discover
with questions or caresses
the immense loneliness
d ' only be love you.

"Light" 2005 (LIV, R.7)

LIV

To you we come only
attreverso you, I'll wait.

I certainly know where they are,
my city, the street name
with whom everyone calls me.
But I do not know where I was with you.
There I've brought you.

How could I learn
the way if you did not watch that much,
if the path were your steps, and his term
the moment that you stopped it? What could be more

besides you offer, that you looked at me? But now that


exile, that the absence
be where you are!
aspect, the trains pass,
the case, looks. I probably would lead

where ever I was.
But I do not want the new heaven.
I want to stay where they are already.
With you, come back. What great news

come again
repeat, never the same, that wonder
endless!
And as long as you're coming I'll be on the threshold

flight, dreams
of contrails, motionless.
Cause I know where I was
no wings, no wheels or sails
lead.
They all have lost his way.
Cause I know where I was
leads only (which I love)

Leonardo - Head of a Young Woman tousled - 1490

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sea

Claude Monet (1840 -1926), soleil levant, Sunrise, 1872, Oil on canvas, 48 \u200b\u200bx 63 cm

Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867)

"L'homme and the Sea"
"Man and the sea \u200b\u200b
"Man and Sea"

Metrico scheme: ABBA, DCCD; EFFE; GHHG

original text
Freeman, you will always cherish the sea!
The sea is your mirror, you contemplate your soul
In the infinite unrolling of its billows
And your mind is no less bitter pit.

You complain to dive in your image;
You kiss her eyes and arms, and your cœurSe distracted a few times its own rumor
the sound of this complaint, wild and untamable.

You're both dark and quiet:
Man, no one has sounded the depths of your being;
O sea, no one knows your wealth intimes, Tant vous êtes
Jaloux Garder de vos secrets! Et cependant voilà des

Siècles innombrables
Que vous vous sans pity combattez ni remord,
Tellement vous aimez the carnage et la mort,
O lutteurs éternels or implacables frères!

Copacabana-Brasil-2005- wave

Italian
Always the sea, a free man, you'll love!
because the sea is your mirror;
you to contemplate the infinite unfolding wave
your soul and your spirit
abyss is no less bitter. Enjoy the dive
within your image, the eyes and hugs
with arms, and sometimes the heart
distracted from your sound to the sound of this lament
wild and untamed.
Discrete and both are dark:
man, no one has ever probed the bottom of your depth
no one has known,
sea, your most intimate riches
so jealous you are of your every
secret. But for centuries without remorse or pity
endless struggle between
you, so great is your love
for the massacre and death, or eternal
wrestlers, or implacable brothers!

Paul Gauguin (1848-1903)

Inglese
Always the sea, free man, you will love! Because the sea is your
mirror;
you contemplate in the infinite to carry out yourself of the wave
the spirit yours, and an abyss is your spirit
not little bitter.
You enjoy in diving to you
within your image; it embraces
with the eyes and the arms,
and sometimes the heart is distracted from your sound to the suon of this
wild and uncontrollable I complain.
Discreet and tenebrous both you are:
man, nobody never feel the bottom
of your abysses; nobody has known,
sea, your more intimate riches,
many jelaous you are of every yours secret.
But from centuries infinites
without weight neither mercy fought between you,
so large it is your love
for the massacre and the dead women,
or eternal fighters, implacable
or siblings!

Claude Monet (1840-1926), soleil levant, Sunrise

Isabella Soprano Saber

friend Love, that on gentle heart doth swiftly seize (Dante Alighieri - 1256-1321) "Love, That Immediately nearby is the kind heart" Daffodils

Sandro Botticelli (Alessandro Filipepi said Sandro - Florence 1445 - 1510)
" The birth of Verere / Birth of Venus "(1485 ca.)


Titus Lucretius Carus (99? - 55? AC) (incipit De rerum natura)
" Alma Venus, the mother of the Aeneid delight of men and of you who under wandering stars in the sky that brings fruitful sea vessels and land charge made for you all living beings are conceived and born saw the sunlight, and when you appear, O goddess, the winds flee, flee the clouds of heaven, the earth under your feet produce fertile flowers sweet, you smiles expanse of sea and sky, soothed, pour a torrent of light ... "

Lucio Battisti

CET AMOUR (This love / This love)
Jacques Prevert

• FRENCH (original text)
• ITALIAN ITALIANO
• 
  
  • 
    

  • Poesia di Jacques Prevert (1900-1977)
    

    FRANCESE (original text)
    

    This Love (1945)
    

  • This love
    If
    violent So fragile So tender
    
    This love so desperate
    
    Beautiful as the day
    And bad as the time
    When the weather is bad
    This love so true This love so beautiful
    
    
    If So happy happy
    laughable if
    Trembling with fear as a child in And if the black
    confident
    As a quiet man in the middle of the night
    This love that used to scare other
    Who was Who was talking
    pale
    
    watched this love Because we guettions
    Hunted injured trampled completed denied forgotten
    Because we hunted wounded trampled completed denied forgotten
    This whole
    If love still alive And
    sunny
    It's yours is mine
    
    one who was always something new
    This
    And that has not changed
    As surely as a plant
    Also a trembling bird
    Also hot as alive as the Summer
    We can both go and return
    
    We can forget
    And then we wake We suffer sleep
    age
    
    We still asleep Dreaming of death, we awaken
    smile and laugh and rejuvenate
    
    Our love is here
    Stubborn as an ass like desire
    Living
    Cruel as memory
    Dumb as regret
    Tender as the memory
    Cold as the marble
    Beautiful as the day
    Fragile as a child
    We look smilingly
    And he talks without saying anything
    And I listen and I trembled
    Cree
    I cry for you I cry for me
    
    
    I'm begging For you to me and to all those who love
    And who loved
    Yes I cried
    For you for me and all other
    What I do not know
    Stay here
    Lá Lá
    where you are where you were formerly
    
    Stay here Do not move Do
    t The position is not
    We who have loved thee
    We Forgot
    You do not forget us
    We only had you on earth
    us not become cold
    Much later still
    And anywhere
    Give us a sign of life
    Much later at the corner of a wood in the forest
    memory
    Arise suddenly
    Reach Us
    hand And save us .
    
    
    
    Amedeo Modigliani (1884-1920) "Potrait of Jeanne Hebuterne"
    
    

  • ITALIAN
    
  • This Love (1945)
    
  • This
    love So violent So fragile
    
    
    So tender So hopeless This love
    
    
    Bad As beautiful as the day as the time when the weather is bad
    
    This love This love so true
    
    so beautiful So happy So joyous
    
    So negligible
    trembling with fear as a child when So it's dark
    confident
    As a quiet man in the middle of the night
    This love I was scared of The others
    
    and made them turn pale
    This love kept an eye
    Because we were keeping an eye on the injured arm walked fact
    Deleted
    denied
    out because we have walked on his injured arm made out
    Denied deleted
    This love yourself wholly
    So I still live
    
    And kissed by the sun and your love is my love
    
    is what was
    This what ever new
    What has not changed as a plant
    Vera
    trembling like a bird alive as
    Hot Summer
    Both you and I can sleep again And then
    Forget
    
    Wake up falling asleep still suffer age
    
    death's dream and wake up smiling
    Rejuvenate
    laugh
    Our love does not move
    Stubborn as a mule
    Vivo as cruel as the desire
    memory
    Stupid regrets
    as soft as the memory
    Cold as marble
    beautiful as the day
    Fragile as a child
    He looks at us smiling
    He speaks without saying
    
    trembling And I listen to you cry and cry
    Cry for me
    
    
    I beg for you to me for all those who love you are loved and
    
    Oh yes shouted
    For you to me for all other
    I do not know
    Stay where you are Do not go away
    
    stay where he was once
    
    Stay where you are Do not move Do not go
    
    We loved that we took thee
    not Forgotten
    You do not forget that you had not
    
    on earth Do not leave us freezing to death
    Far farther
    Where you want
    Give us a sign of life
    Later, later, at night in the forest of remembrance
    
    Rise sudden
    tensioner Bring in your hand unless
    .
    
    Salvador Dali (1904-1989) "Meditative rose
    
    
    
    

    ENGLISH

    This love(1945)
    
    Gabri
    
    
    
    
    

  • This love
    So violent
    So fragile
    So to tend
    So desperate
    This love
    Beautiful like the day
    And bad like time
    When time is bad
    This so true love
    This so beautiful love
    If happy
    If merry
    And so ridiculous
    Trembling of fear like a child in the black
    And so sure of him
    Like a quiet man with the milieu(in the middle) of the night
    This love that frightened the others
    Who made them speak
    Who made them turn pale
    This watched for love
    Because we watch for it
    “Tracked wounded trampled completed denied forgotten
    Because we tracked it wounded trampled completed denied forgotten”
    This entire love
    So still living
    And all sunny
    It is your
    It is mine
    That which was
    This always new thing
    And which did not change
    As true as a plant
    As trembling as a bird
    Also hot as alive as the summer
    We can both
    To go and return
    We can forget
    And then to send us to sleep again
    Us to awake to suffer to age
    Us to still deaden
    To dream with death,
    Us to wake up to smile and laugh
    And to renovate
    Our love remains there
    Obstinate like a she-ass
    Living like the desire
    Cruel like the memory
    Animal like the regrets
    To tend like the memory
    Cold like the marble
    Beautiful like the day
    Fragile like a child
    He looks us while smiling
    And it speaks to us without anything to say
    And I listen to it while trembling
    And I shout I shout for you
    I shout for me
    I beg you
    For you for me and all those which like
    And which loved each other
    Yes I shout to him
    For you for me and all the others
    That I do not know
    Remain there
    There where you are
    There where you were formerly
    Remain there
    Do not move
    You does not go from there
    We who are loved
    We forgot you
    You does not forget us
    We had only you on the ground
    Does not let to us become cold
    Much further always
    And anywhere
    Give signs life to us
    Much later with the corner a wood
    In the forest of the memory
    Emerged suddenly
    Tighten to us the hand
    And saves us .
    yA
    
    

Diego Velazquez (1599-1660)

"Venere e Cupido/Venus en Cupido" (1649-51ca.)

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"Daffodils" (1804)

By William Wordsworth (1770-1850).



I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,

They stretch'd in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils ( yA )

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nine hundred

Salvador Dali ( The endless enigma ) 1938 (never ending enigma )

• VIGIL
• ARE A CREATURE
  
• MORNING
  
• SOLDIERS
  
• and is immediately sera
  
  

Poems of Giuseppe Ungaretti (1888-1970)

VIGIL

Top Four December 23, 1915

whole night
thrown to a teammate near

massacred
with
gritted his mouth once

full moon with the congestion
of his hands
penetrated

I wrote in my silence
letters full of love

I've never been so

attached to life

Salvador Dali ( The premonition of civil war ) 1936 ( The premonition of a civil war )

ARE A CREATURE

1916

As of this stone
S. Michele

so cold so hard so
well drained
refractory
So totally disheartened



As this stone is my cry that is not seen


Death
of rebate
living

Paul Gaugin "Where we come from? What are we? Where are we going? " 1897 "Where We Come From?" What we are? Where are we going? "

MORNING

Santa Maria La Longa January 26, 1917

M'illumino
of immense.

SOLDIERS

Woods Courton July 1918

It is as
autumn trees

leaves.

Tom Porta "fellow friends" (allarmi2-Como 2006)

Poetry Salvatore Quasimodo (1901-1968)

ED NOW

sera [from water and lands (1930)]

Everyone is just the heart of the earth
pierced by a ray of sunshine:
and is now evening.

Kates Playground Strawberry Pantiesshot

The value of time ... "The value of time ..."( author unknown)

Salvador Dali (The Persistence of Memory), 1931 (The Persistence of Memory)





To Realize The value of a sister
Ask someone
Who does not have one?


To Realize The value of ten years: Ask a newly

Divorced couple.


To Realize The value of four years:
Ask a graduate.

To realize
The value of one year:
Ask a student who has failed a final exam.

To realize
The value of one month:
Ask a mother who has given birth to a premature baby.

To realize
The value of one week:
Ask an editor of a weekly newspaper.

To realize
The value of one hour:
Ask the lovers who are waiting to meet.

To realize
The value of one minute:
Ask the person who has missed the train, bus or plane.

To realize
The value of one second:
Ask a person who has survived an accident.

To realize
The value of one millisecond:
Ask the person who has won a silver medal in the Olympics.

Time waits for no one


To realize
The value of a friend or family member:
LOSE ONE.

Time waits for no one.

Treasure Every Moment You Have.

You will treasure it even more When You share it with someone special.

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BRO

Albrecht Durer (1471-1528) (Mani ) 1508 ( Hands )

In the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with 18 children! Yes, 18! To simply put a little 'food on the table, the father and head of household, a goldsmith, worked almost 18 hours a day in his shop and everyone in the neighborhood, could pay him for his services.

Despite their seemingly hopeless situation, two sons, Albrecht and Albert, had a dream: both wanted to exploit their talent for the arts, but they knew full well that their father could never have the economic means to send them to study at Nuremberg.

After long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a deal. They decided to flip a coin: the loser would have worked in nearby mines and their earnings would pay the studies of his brother at the academy. In turn, the winner, once completed four years of study, other studies would be funded with proceeds from sales of their artwork, whether working in the mines.

They flip the coin on a Sunday morning, after mass Albrecht Durer winner turned out and went to Nuremberg, while Albert went into the dangerous mines and for four years, financed his brother, whose work at the academy immediately aroused sensation. The sketches, carvings and paintings by Albrecht were far better than those of most of his teachers and when he graduated, he was beginning to earn money considerable thanks to the works that were commissioned.

When the young artist returned home, the family gathered for a celebratory feast.

After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his place of honor at the head to make a toast with which to thank his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled him to achieve its ambitions. His final words were: "And now, Albert, my beloved brother, it's your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to realize your dream, I will take care of you."

All turned anxiously to Albert, but they shook her head, sobbing: "No, my brother, for me it's too late ..." Then, wiping the copious tears running down her face, she added softly, "I can not go to Nuremberg. Look at what they did to my hands four years of mine! The bones of each finger were crushed at least once, and lately I have began to suffer from arthritis in his right hand so heavy that I can not even hold a glass to toast your answer: imagine if I could hold a brush and draw delicate lines on a canvas or a board! No, brother mine, me it's too late! "

been more than 450 years. Now hundreds of masterpieces by Albrecht Durer - portraits, sketches in pen and silver-tipped, watercolors, charcoal, carvings and engravings on copper - are on display in major museums around the world, but unfortunately it is very unlikely that we, like most of the people, we are familiar with his particular job or that we have never seen a reproduction hanging in a home or office.

One day, to pay homage to Albert and his immense sacrifice, Albrecht designed with the utmost care and precision the suffering of his brother joined hands with fingers pointing towards the sky. He called this his wonderful drawing simply "Hands", but the whole world opened delay his heart to this great masterpiece and renamed the painting "Hands in prayer."

If you happen to see a copy of this so touching, look again and carefully.
remind you, if ever you need it, that nobody, nobody, TRIUMPHS NEVER ALONE!

(Inglese)

In the fifteenth century, in a minuscule village next to Nuremberg, lived a family with 18 give birth! Yes, 18! Simply to Be Able to Put Some in food table, the father and head of the family, a goldsmith, Almost Worked 18 hours a day in a shop and for whoever, in the neighborhood, that could pay him his services.

Despite their desperate situation two of his children, Albrecht and Albert, apparently, had a dream: both desired to practice their talent for the arts, but they perfectly knew that their father would never have been able to have the economic means to send them to study to the academy of Norimberga.

After long nighttime discussions in their crowded bed, the two boys finally elaborated a pact. They decided to launch a coin: the loser would have worked in the near mines and with his own earningses he would have paid the studies of his brother to the academy. The winner, completed in turn once the four years of study, he would have financed the studies of the other both with the proceeds of the sales of his own artistic jobs, both working in the mines.

They launched the coin on Sundays morning, after the mass Albrecht Durer resulted winning and departed for Norimberga, while Albert went in the dangerous mines and for four years his brother it financed, whose job in the academy aroused since immediately feeling. The squirts, the carvings and the paintings of Albrecht were of big long best of those of the greatest part of its teachers and when he graduated, he already started to earn considerable sums thanks to the works that were commissioned him.

When the young artist returned home, the family assembled him for a commemorative banquet.

After a long and memorable lunch, interposed by music and laughters, Albrecht got up from his place of honor to the end of the table to make a toast with which to thank his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had allowed him to realize his ambitions. Its conclusive words were: "And now, Albert, my beloved brother, is your turn. Now you can go to Norimberga to realize your dream, I will take me care of you."

All anxiously turned him toward Albert but these shake the head sobbing: "No, my brother, for me it is too late..." Then, drying himself the tears that ruled him plentiful the face, it softly added: "I cannot go to Norimberga. Look what have made four years of mine to my hands! The bones of every finger are been crushed at least once and lately I have started to suffer from a so heavy arthritis to the right hand, that I cannot even hold up the glass to answer to your toast: let's show up us if could hold a brush and to trace delicate lines on a cloth or a table! No, brother, my, for me is too late!"

More than 450 years they are passed. By now hundreds of masterpieces of Albrecht Durer - portraits, squirts to pen and silver point, acquarelli, carboncini, carvings and incisions on copper - they are exposed in the great museums of the whole world, but unfortunately it is very unlikely that us as the greatest part of the people, have familiarity with one particular job of his or that we have ever seen a suspended reproduction of it in a house or in an office.

One day, to make to Albert and to his immense sacrifice free, Albrecht it drew with the maximum care and precision the suffering hands of his brother united and with the turned fingers toward the sky. He simply called his stupendous sketch "Hands", but the whole world immediately opened his own heart to this great masterpiece and rechristened the picture "Hands in prayer."

If it will happen you to see a reproduction of this so touching work, again look at it and with attention.
What you remember, if ever needed it, That anybody, nobody, Triumph Alone
Never!

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Evening

Brazil-Rio de Janeiro-Piabetà (2005) "onevening"

the evening (to evening) - 1802
Ugo Foscolo (1778-1827)

Metro: sonnet (ABAB, ABAB, CDC, DCD) .

Perhaps because of fatal quiet
you are the imaginary come to me so dear
or Evening! And when you Corteggiani happy
the summer clouds and calm breezes,

and when air from the snowy darkness and restless
long universe phenomena
always relied come down, and the secret
streets of my heart gently hold.

Vagar make me co 'my thoughts about the footsteps
going anything ever, and while fleeing
guilty this time, and with him the hordes van

care of me so he pines;
and while I look at your peace, sleeping
spirit warrior who enter groans.

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Words Are Not Necessary

me-2004
Looking for something is a natural condition.Understanding is not important.
Sure about nothing. Apart Love . That exists.

Hannah you amo.yA