What did Antonio Porchia mean by: Out of a hundred years a few minutes were made that stayed with me, not a hundred years. Antonio Porchia Poet · Italy Copy
+ Those who gave away their wings are sad not to see them fly. Author, July 17, 2023January 2, 2025, Antonio Porchia, Freedom, Loss, Regret, 0 Antonio Porchia Poet · Italy
+ He who makes a paradise of his bread makes a hell of his hunger. Author, January 9, 2024January 6, 2025, Antonio Porchia, Hell, Hunger, Paradise, 0 Antonio Porchia Poet · Italy
+ Nothing is not only nothing. It is also our prison. Author, June 13, 2023January 2, 2025, Antonio Porchia, Existentialism, Freedom, Isolation, 0 Antonio Porchia Poet · Italy
+ When your suffering is a little greater than my suffering I feel that I am a little cruel. Author, January 9, 2024January 6, 2025, Antonio Porchia, Comparison, Empathy, Guilt, 0 Antonio Porchia Poet · Italy
+ The dream which is not fed with dream disappears. Author, September 9, 2023January 2, 2025, Antonio Porchia, Fulfillment, Imagination, Persistence, 0 Antonio Porchia Poet · Italy
+ The little things are what is eternal, and the rest, all the rest, is brevity, extreme brevity. Author, January 9, 2024January 6, 2025, Antonio Porchia, Brevity, Eternal, 0 Antonio Porchia Poet · Italy
+ Everything that I bear within me bound, is to be found somewhere else free. Author, January 9, 2024January 6, 2025, Antonio Porchia, Connection, Liberation, Suffering, 0 Antonio Porchia Poet · Italy
+ Man, when he is merely what he seems to be, is almost nothing. Author, January 9, 2024January 6, 2025, Antonio Porchia, Depth, Identity, Perception, 0 Antonio Porchia Poet · Italy
Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying. Read explanation Jean Cocteau Artist · France
It takes 25 years to learn to draw, one hour to learn to paint. Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres Painter · France
The dead drug leaves a ghost behind. At certain hours it haunts the house. Jean Cocteau Artist · France
Days, months, years fly away, and irrecoverably sink in the abyss of time. Read explanation Jean de la Bruyere Writer · France
