" I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be. "
INSIDE
pietro codara - about me
OUTSIDE
photo gallery - cities, people, and places
charol blog - cody.it blog [UNDER CONSTRUCTION]
VIEW
FRIENDS
LA PHOTO GALLERY DI CODY.IT
"I could probably tell you what I did after I went home, and how I got sick and all,
and what school I'm supposed to go to next fall, after I get out of here, but I don't
feel like it. I really don't. That stuff doesn't interest me too much right now. A lot of people,
especially this one psychoanalyst guy they have here,
keeps asking me if I'm going to apply myself when I go back to school next September.
It's such a stupid question, in my opinion. I mean how do you know what you're going
to do till you do it? The answer is, you don't. I think I am, but how do
I know? I swear it's a stupid question." - The photo gallery of cody.it.
IL BLOG DI CODY.IT
"When they got up to go, the two nuns, I did something very stupid and
embarrassing. I was smoking a cigarette, and when I stood up to say good-by
to them, by mistake I blew some smoke in their face. I didn't mean to, but
I did it. I apologized like a madman, and they were very polite and nice about it,
but it was very embarrassing anyway. After they left, I started getting sorry that
I'd only given them ten bucks for their collection. But the thing was, I'd made
that date to go to a matinee with old Sally Hayes, and I needed to keep some dough
for the tickets and stuff. I was sorry anyway, though. Damn money. It always ends up
making you blue as hell." - Un open blog.
Un caffè in centro.
Discussioni e commenti su politica, società, vita, e favole. [UNDER CONSTRUCTION]
PRO LIFE
Dicono fra loro sragionando: " La nostra vita è breve e triste; non c'è rimedio quando l'uomo muore, e non si conosce nessuno che liberi dal regno dei morti. Siamo nati per caso e dopo saremo come se non fossimo stati: è un fumo il soffio delle nostre narici, il pensiero è una scintilla nel palpito del nostro cuore, spenta la quale, il corpo diventerà cenere e lo spirito svanirà come aria sottile. Il nostro nome cadrà, con il tempo, nell'oblio e nessuno ricorderà le nostre opere. La nostra vita passerà come traccia di nuvola, si dissolverà come nebbia messa in fuga dai raggi del sole e abbattuta dal suo calore. Passaggio di un'ombra è infatti la nostra esistenza e non c'è ritorno quando viene la nostra fine, poiché il sigillo è posto e nessuno torna indietro. [...] " Hanno pensato così, ma si sono sbagliati; la loro malizia li ha accecati.
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