Trés agréable séjour à la villa Pirandello.

17/07/19, France Trés agréable séjour à la villa Pirandello. Quelle merveilleuse surprise le matin de mes 16 ans lorsque le personnel m’a offert un gâteau d’anniversaire en chanson! Au plaisir de revenir un jour à Rome à la Villa Pirandello! Emma

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Everything. Everywhere. Every time.

20th August 2018 We are a couple from Barcelona, Catalonia. We felt in love, working in a big Catalan company, during am engineering project from Qatar. We started to go out, after the first date and for months later, when I became forty, he took to Paris in a romantic weekend as a surprise. The biggest present of that 7th August 2015 it was not to see the Eiffel Tower or the Seine, no… it was… that nine months later, exactly nine, there was born my son Arnau. Since then we are much happier and we do it all together. Everything. Everywhere. Every time. We decided to come to Rome because of the Italian culture. People’s character is similar to the Catalan and here we feel like at home. We’ve spent many days in this lovely town and have eaten the best pasta ever. My son says everyone that I am his mother and he points my face when he says it to the people. Today we feel sad we come back to Catalonia but we are happy on the same time for seeing our family. I love Italy, the Italian people, their way to become happy, their caring behaviour with […]

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The Painter, un inno all’Italia

The metal splinters a winter’s moonlight shine on the rain boys as they plummet at midnight, and the vultures of past lives crawl into misty street pipes as the cries of cowardice souls disappear into life’s flight.   History hauls from the bell’s ancient Chine, and the artist’s portrait has a face of one once mine, who ate the tangy fruit from the sinner’s vine and I geared though the moonlight a rain so divine.   Domes of steeples and wells stand with awe, marked by the battles that fighters fearlessly saw. The boot heels of a short stranger once removed y the law are those of a young painter who has again drawn the shortest straw.   In times of fortitude a flooding of one’s mind, can we reach the prize of a life more or less kind? Or will we fall in to the pit of promises that bind, and see all mankind in a sort of eyesight both clear and blind?   If history can tell who sings the song so well, then why has no one broken the sacred spell at the portraits of a painter and her joker who slightly fell through those fiery nine circles where the forsaken […]

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