What did Antonio Porchia mean by: When everything is finished, the mornings are sad. Antonio Porchia Poet · Italy Copy
+ You are fastened to them and cannot understand how, because they are not fastened to you. Author, January 9, 2024January 6, 2025, Antonio Porchia, Attachment, Relationships, Understanding, 0 Antonio Porchia Poet · Italy
+ Injury, when it is slight, upsets me; when it is strong it calms me. Author, January 9, 2024January 6, 2025, Antonio Porchia, Contrast, Emotion, Pain, 0 Antonio Porchia Poet · Italy
+ Not believing has a sickness which is believing a little. Author, October 10, 2023January 2, 2025, Antonio Porchia, Faith, Paradox, Skepticism, 0 Antonio Porchia Poet · Italy
+ One lives in the hope of becoming a memory. Author, October 1, 2023January 2, 2025, Antonio Porchia, Hope, Legacy, Memory, 0 Antonio Porchia Poet · Italy
+ The children whom nobody leads by the hand are the children who know they are children. Author, January 9, 2024January 6, 2025, Antonio Porchia, Awareness, Guidance, Independence, 0 Antonio Porchia Poet · Italy
+ The real “it is well” is something I say from the ground, having fallen. Author, January 9, 2024January 6, 2025, Antonio Porchia, Acceptance, Recovery, Resilience, 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
+ Even the smallest of creatures carries the sun in its eyes. Author, July 15, 2023January 2, 2025, Antonio Porchia, Beauty, Nature, Perception, 0 Antonio Porchia Poet · Italy
After the writer’s death, reading his journal is like receiving a long letter. Read explanation Jean Cocteau Artist · France
Mirrors would do well to reflect a little more before sending back images. Jean Cocteau Artist · France
Watch yourself all your life in a mirror and you’ll see Death at work like bees in a glass hive. Jean Cocteau Artist · France
A verbal art like poetry is reflective; it stops to think. Music is immediate, it goes on to become. W. H. Auden Poet · England
