Quotes from Gabriele d'Annunzio

The sun is gone; but the Day—still bending over the mountains, loosens a last flower from her plait. And the sky seems now a higher and holier thing.

Qué importa si soy derrotado en el espacio, si sé que estoy destinado a vencer en el tiempo?

I am beyond Right and Left, just as I am beyond good and evil… I am a man devoted to life, not to formulas.

he had the sudden thought of holding Donna Maria's hands in his, to rest his forehead against her heart and feel her console him wordlessly, mercifully. That need for pity, refuge, sympathy, was like the last piece of the soul that did not resign itself to perishing.

Hold me, O Night, with motherly affection, While the wan earth wakes with a misty yawn. By my blood will be born the dawn and from my fleeting dream—the undying sun!

Ma in un pomeriggio di agosto alla pineta ci tornò con un branco di tacchini cercando ombra, e ci trovò l'amore

La convalescenza è una purificazione e un rinascimento. Non mai il senso della vita è soave come dopo l'angoscia del male; e non mai l'anima umana più inclina alla bontà e alla fede come dopo aver guardato negli abissi della morte.

il verso è tutto e può tutto.

They remained silent, while the bronze tolling passed over their heads so powerfully that they seemed to hear it in the very roots of their hair like a quiver of their flesh.

Count Andrea Sperelli-Fieschi of Ugenta, the sole heir, continued the family tradition. He was, in truth, the ideal type of young Italian gentleman of the nineteenth century, the legitimate defender of a lineage of gentlemen and elegant artists, the last descendant of an intellectual race. He was, as it were, completely impregnated with art.

He followed the glances of some of them like a ray of love directed at a woman seated somewhere, engrossed in her own thoughts, made languorous by secret delights and softened in some impure way, with a snow-white face in which her mouth opened like a hive damp with honey.

Radian. The prisoner's name is Radiana. Who is keeping her prisoner? Time, Stelio. Time is guarding the doors with his scythe and his hour-glass, as in all those old prints...

Se il teatro dell'amore era immutato, perché sarebbe mutato l'amore?

Il loro amore cresceva col fieno, e il fieno s'alzava, s'alzava, ondoso

Limit to courage? There is no limit to courage.