[Poetry] may make us from time to time a little aware of the deeper unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.
T.S.Eliot
Tuesday, January 22, 2019
Roma
A sunny winter afternoon in Rome. In a moment when everybody should be paying special attention to where we're putting our feet, I keep on walking looking upwards.
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