boulevards, and stair cases designed by michelangelo, staircases constructed on the pattern of downward-gliding waters and, as they descend, widely giving birth to step out of step as if it were wave out of wave. through such impressions one gathers oneself, wins oneself back from the exacting multiplicity, which speaks and chatters there (and how talkative it is!), and one slowly learns to recognize the very few things in which something eternal endures that one can love and something solitary that one can gently take part in.

　　i am still living in the city, on the capitol, not far from the most beautiful equestrian statue that has come down to us from roman art - the statue of marcus aurelius; but in a few weeks i will move into a quiet, simple room, an old summerhouse, which lies lost deep in a large park, hidden from the city, from its noises and incidents. there i will live all winter and enjoy the great silence, from which i expect the gift of happy, work-filled hour

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