It is not that the child lives in a world of imagination, but that the child within us survives and starts into life only at rare moments of recollection, which makes us believe, and it is not true, that, as children, we were imaginative? – Cesare Pavese
One does not kill oneself for love of a woman, but because love — any love — reveals us in our nakedness, our misery, our vulnerability, our nothingness. – Cesare Pavese