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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/rss2full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><rss xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" version="2.0"><channel><atom:id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065</atom:id><lastBuildDate>Fri, 02 Sep 2011 13:54:05 +0000</lastBuildDate><category>Einaudi</category><category>Charles Bukowski</category><category>David Toop</category><category>Jean-Luc Godard</category><category>William Faulkner</category><category>Cesare Pavese</category><category>Francis Scott Fitzgerald</category><category>David Foster Wallace</category><category>Feltrinelli</category><category>John Steinbeck</category><category>2.4.7. Films</category><category>Bertolt Brecht</category><category>Nanni Moretti</category><category>Penguin</category><category>Leonardo Sciascia</category><category>Ettore Scola</category><category>Corrado Augias</category><category>Tea</category><category>RAI</category><category>Don DeLillo</category><category>Italo Calvino</category><category>Les films du carrosse</category><category>Paolo Sorrentino</category><category>Persepolis</category><category>Canon gate</category><category>Marjane Satrapi</category><category>Harold Bloom</category><category>Bertrand Russell</category><category>Man Ray</category><category>Mondadori</category><category>Gorilla biscuits</category><category>Ernest Hemingway</category><category>William Shakespeare</category><category>Robert Louis Stevenson</category><category>Thomas Pynchon</category><category>Francesco Careri</category><category>Walter Benjamin</category><category>Arrow</category><category>Wisława Szymborska</category><category>Sacher</category><category>Adelphi</category><category>Michail Bulgakov</category><category>Minimum fax</category><category>Jorge Luis Borges</category><category>Serpent's tail</category><category>Delta</category><category>Pier Paolo Pasolini</category><category>François Truffaut</category><category>Virginia Woolf</category><category>Abscondita</category><category>Vincent Paronnaud</category><category>Vintage</category><category>Fandango</category><category>Fëdor Dostoevskij</category><category>Giuseppe Ungaretti</category><category>Revelation records</category><category>Tom Hodgkinson</category><title>Cassetto da riordinare</title><description>Un cassetto pieno di foglietti con su scritte delle cose di cui volevo ricordarmi</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/</link><managingEditor>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</managingEditor><generator>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>44</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CassettoDaRiordinare" /><feedburner:info xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" uri="cassettodariordinare" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-5884613793395138786</guid><pubDate>Sun, 05 Dec 2010 23:26:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-12-05T23:26:03.369Z</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Einaudi</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Francesco Careri</category><title>La periferia della mente</title><description>&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;La periferia urbana è metafora della periferia della mente, degli scarti del pensiero e della cultura. E' in questi luoghi e non nella falsa natura arcaica dei deserti che si possono formulare nuove domande e ipotizzare nuove risposte.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Francesco Careri, "Walkscapes" (2006, Einaudi, p. 125) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-5884613793395138786?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/12/la-periferia-della-mente.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-1311817961215311554</guid><pubDate>Tue, 23 Nov 2010 21:38:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-11-23T21:38:11.761Z</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Les films du carrosse</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">François Truffaut</category><title>L'avvenire è dei curiosi di professione</title><description>&lt;blockquote&gt;"Ma allora cosa posso fare?"&lt;br /&gt;
"Il curioso."&lt;br /&gt;
"Non è un mestiere!"&lt;br /&gt;
"Non è &lt;i&gt;ancora&lt;/i&gt; un mestiere! Viaggi, scriva, traduca, impari a vivere dovunque, e cominci subito. L'avvenire è dei curiosi di professione."&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- François Truffaut, "Jules e Jim" (1962, Les films du carrosse, ca. 40')&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-1311817961215311554?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/11/lavvenire-e-dei-curiosi-di-professione.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-3353432754380004512</guid><pubDate>Sun, 14 Nov 2010 10:31:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-11-14T10:31:27.680Z</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Gorilla biscuits</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Revelation records</category><title>It takes a strong fucking person to hold your ground!</title><description>&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=94fHl7j5H30"&gt;Hold your ground&lt;/a&gt; on YouTube &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;blockquote&gt;A step apart, I don't fit in with my peers &lt;br /&gt;
But I don't give a shit &lt;br /&gt;
Laughed at in the streets of my town &lt;br /&gt;
Their laughter hurts, but I'll hold my ground &lt;br /&gt;
Hold your... Ground! &lt;br /&gt;
Hold your... Hold your ground! &lt;br /&gt;
It's time to stand up for what you believe &lt;br /&gt;
Have no fear of your critics &lt;br /&gt;
Be proud of the life you lead &lt;br /&gt;
You may be different from your friends, &lt;br /&gt;
But if their true they'll understand &lt;br /&gt;
Hold your ground! &lt;br /&gt;
Be yourself and be the best you can! &lt;br /&gt;
Step out! &lt;br /&gt;
Conformity: the easy way to be accepted &lt;br /&gt;
I'd rather be outcast any day &lt;br /&gt;
It's hard to be yourself with all the pressures coming down &lt;br /&gt;
It takes a strong fucking person to hold your ground! &lt;br /&gt;
Hold your... Ground! &lt;br /&gt;
Hold your... Hold your ground! &lt;/blockquote&gt;-- Gorilla biscuits, "Hold your ground" (1988, Revelation records)&amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-3353432754380004512?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/11/it-takes-strong-fucking-person-to-hold.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-837745027890941530</guid><pubDate>Sun, 31 Oct 2010 12:22:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-31T12:22:37.177Z</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Virginia Woolf</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Mondadori</category><title>La strada londinese</title><description>&lt;blockquote&gt;Il fascino della strada londinese è che mai vi passano due persone uguali. &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- Virginia Woolf, "Una stanza tutta per sé" (1928, Mondadori, p. 115)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-837745027890941530?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/10/la-strada-londinese.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-5757192959923658835</guid><pubDate>Wed, 20 Oct 2010 22:17:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-31T12:21:12.687Z</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Don DeLillo</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Penguin</category><title>A stranger in my love of it</title><description>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;And then with night I would twirl the dials to hunt for jazz, and with luck I'd catch a scrap of catatonic Monk, or Sun Ra colliding with antimatter, and some note would pin together pieces of the spreading night and it would all make sense for a moment, the mad harmonics bringing most of what was sane to those who ran with death, and we would head into the gulf of early light with that black music driving over me and I would feel a stranger in my love of it, for I did not run with anything.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- Don DeLillo, "Americana" (1990, Penguin, p. 350)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-5757192959923658835?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/10/stranger-in-my-love-of-it.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-6240896421420823773</guid><pubDate>Sun, 03 Oct 2010 20:41:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-11-06T01:13:46.817Z</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Persepolis</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">2.4.7. Films</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Marjane Satrapi</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Vincent Paronnaud</category><title>Finimmo per dimenticare che non eravamo liberi</title><description>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;blockquote align="justify"&gt;All'inizio degli anni Novanta, l'epoca dei grandi ideali era passata. Dopo la rivoluzione, il governo aveva imprigionato tanti di quei liceali e studenti che non osavamo più parlare di politica. E poi la guerra era alle nostre spalle. Cercavamo talmente la felicità, che finimmo per dimenticare che non eravamo liberi.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;--&amp;nbsp;Marjane Satrapi, "Persepolis" (2007, 2.4.7. Films, circa 70° minuto)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-6240896421420823773?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/10/finimmo-per-dimenticare-che-non-eravamo.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-4800239615454452727</guid><pubDate>Wed, 22 Sep 2010 21:41:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-31T12:20:57.941Z</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Don DeLillo</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Penguin</category><title>Every man wants to grow a beard</title><description>&lt;blockquote&gt;"What are you growing a beard for?"&lt;br /&gt;
"Every man wants to grow a beard before he dies. It's one way of saying fuck you to everybody."&amp;nbsp;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- Don DeLillo, "Americana" (1990, Penguin, p. 246)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-4800239615454452727?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/09/every-man-wants-to-grow-beard.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-2445746677529304658</guid><pubDate>Fri, 27 Aug 2010 19:14:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-08-27T20:14:30.156+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Einaudi</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Bertolt Brecht</category><title>La verità, noi la imponiamo</title><description>&lt;blockquote&gt;La verità riesce ad imporsi solo nella misura in cui noi la imponiamo. &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- Bertolt Brecht, "Vita di Galileo" (1956, Einaudi, p. 149)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-2445746677529304658?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/08/la-verita-noi-la-imponiamo.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-2100411480154159182</guid><pubDate>Mon, 23 Aug 2010 21:33:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-08-23T22:34:11.757+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">David Toop</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Serpent's tail</category><title>Not country stillness but urban shutdown</title><description>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;The ambient hum of night air and low frequency motor vehicle drone merges with insect hum called back from the 1970s, a country garden somewhere, high summer in the afternoon. The snow has settled. I can smell woodsmoke. Looking for fires I open the front door, peer out into the shining dark and hear stillness. Not country stillness but urban shutdown. So tranquil. &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- David Toop, "Ocean of sound. Aether talk, ambient sound and imaginary worlds" (1995, Serpent's tail, p. 1)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-2100411480154159182?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/08/not-country-stillness-but-urban.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-2492901808290458873</guid><pubDate>Sun, 08 Aug 2010 21:50:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-08-08T22:50:17.497+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Penguin</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Francis Scott Fitzgerald</category><title>Hills from which we look</title><description>&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;At eighteen our convictions are hills from which we look; at forty-five they are caves in which we hide.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- Francis Scott Fitzgerald, "Bernice bobs her hair" (in "Flappers and philosophers. The collected short stories", 1920, Penguin, p. 9)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-2492901808290458873?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/08/hills-from-which-we-look.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-9173777057546648454</guid><pubDate>Sun, 01 Aug 2010 14:06:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-08-01T15:06:13.940+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Tea</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Bertrand Russell</category><title>Il più urgente compito del nostro tempo</title><description>&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Ed il più urgente compito del nostro tempo è quello di costruire una filosofia capace di reagire dinanzi agli uomini intossicati dalla propaganda d'un potere quasi illimitato ed anche dinanzi all'apatia di quelli che non hanno alcun potere. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- Bertrand Russell, "Storia della filosofia occidentale" (Tea, 1946, p. 697) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-9173777057546648454?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/08/il-piu-urgente-compito-del-nostro-tempo.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-2621404870759716259</guid><pubDate>Sat, 24 Jul 2010 23:47:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-07-25T00:47:00.065+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Einaudi</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Cesare Pavese</category><title>Forse il tempo sarebbe cambiato</title><description>&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Alta, sul poggio dalla cima bianca, c'era una nuvoletta. La prima nube di settembre. Ne fu lieto come di un incontro. Forse il tempo sarebbe cambiato, forse avrebbe piovuto, e sarebbe stato dolce sedersi davanti all'uscio, guardando l'aria fredda, sentendo il paese attutirsi. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- Cesare Pavese, "Il carcere" (in "Prima che il gallo canti", 1939, Einaudi, p. 35)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-2621404870759716259?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/07/forse-il-tempo-sarebbe-cambiato.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-7144548206120457581</guid><pubDate>Mon, 28 Jun 2010 20:14:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-06-28T21:14:31.050+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Mondadori</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Italo Calvino</category><title>Fissare sulla carta i luoghi</title><description>&lt;blockquote&gt;Il primo bisogno di fissare sulla carta i luoghi è legato al viaggio: è il promemoria della successione delle tappe, il tracciato d'un percorso. &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- Italo Calvino, "Il viandante nella mappa" (in "Collezione di sabbia", 1980, Mondadori, p. 21)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-7144548206120457581?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/06/fissare-sulla-carta-i-luoghi.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-7194144608435580313</guid><pubDate>Wed, 23 Jun 2010 20:56:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-06-23T21:56:35.591+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Adelphi</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Leonardo Sciascia</category><title>Non si erano mai posto il problema</title><description>&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Non si erano mai posto il problema di giudicare il fascismo nel suo insieme, così come non se lo erano posto nei riguardi del cattolicesimo.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- Leonardo Sciascia, "Porte aperte" (1987, Adelphi, p. 71)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-7194144608435580313?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/06/non-si-erano-mai-posto-il-problema.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-7461673148872837305</guid><pubDate>Sat, 19 Jun 2010 23:28:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-06-20T00:29:22.281+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Einaudi</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Fëdor Dostoevskij</category><title>Perché non essere tutti come fratelli?</title><description>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;È già molto tempo che ci penso: perché non possiamo essere tutti come fratelli? Perché l'uomo, anche il migliore, cela sempre qualcosa, tace sempre qualcosa al fratello? Perché non dire subito, apertamente, quello che si ha nel cuore se le proprie parole non sono gettate al vento? Ognuno si mostra molto più duro di quanto non sia realmente, come se temesse di offendere i propri sentimenti rivelandoli troppo presto...&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- Fëdor Dostoevskij, "Notti bianche" (1848, Einaudi, p. 119)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-7461673148872837305?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/06/perche-non-essere-tutti-come-fratelli.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-4503898596474681656</guid><pubDate>Wed, 09 Jun 2010 08:04:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-06-10T17:42:18.365+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Penguin</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Robert Louis Stevenson</category><title>Pocket wisdom is for mediocre people</title><description>&lt;blockquote style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Most of our pocket wisdom is conceived for the use of mediocre people, to discourage them from ambitious attempts, and generally console them in their mediocrity.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- Robert Louis Stevenson, "Crabbed age and youth" (in "An apology for idlers", 2009, Penguin, p. 37)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-4503898596474681656?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/06/pocket-wisdom-is-for-mediocre-people.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-7571803411317721304</guid><pubDate>Mon, 07 Jun 2010 21:14:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-06-10T17:42:27.330+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Vintage</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Thomas Pynchon</category><title>If there is a line at all</title><description>&lt;blockquote style="text-align: justify;"&gt;If he is going into management, he writes. If he is an engineer or architect why he paints or sculpts. He will straddle the line, aware up to the point of knowing he is getting the worst of both worlds, but never stopping to wonder why there should ever have been a line, or even if there is a line at all. He will learn how to be a twinned man and will go on at the game, straddling until he splits up the crotch and in half from the prolonged tension, and then he will be destroyed.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- Thomas Pynchon, "V" (1961, Vintage, p. 58)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-7571803411317721304?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/06/if-there-is-line-at-all.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-131767184823968598</guid><pubDate>Tue, 01 Jun 2010 21:30:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-06-10T17:42:27.333+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Canon gate</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Charles Bukowski</category><title>All in it together</title><description>&lt;blockquote&gt;I sat back down and poured a glass of wine. I left my door open. The moonlight came in with the sounds of the city: juke boxes, automobiles, curses, dogs barking, radios . . . We were all in it together.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- Charles Bukowski, "Ham on rye" (1982, Canon gate, p. 308)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-131767184823968598?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/06/all-in-it-together.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-8163409636570005771</guid><pubDate>Mon, 24 May 2010 19:11:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-06-10T17:42:51.230+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Sacher</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Nanni Moretti</category><title>Sono felice solo nel tragitto</title><description>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;Caro diario, sono felice solo in mare, nel tragitto tra un'isola che ho appena lasciato e un'altra che devo ancora raggiungere.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- Nanni Moretti, "Caro Diario" (1993, Sacher, circa 57° minuto)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-8163409636570005771?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/05/sono-felice-solo-nel-tragitto.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-381693559209335183</guid><pubDate>Tue, 18 May 2010 19:18:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-06-10T17:42:27.336+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Pier Paolo Pasolini</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Mondadori</category><title>Vacanza, evasione, sparizione, solitudine</title><description>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;La cosa a cui l'uomo ha più diritto è la vacanza, l'evasione, la sparizione, la solitudine.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;-- Pier Paolo Pasolini, "Petrolio" (1975, Mondadori, p. 420)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-381693559209335183?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/05/vacanza-evasione-sparizione-solitudine.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-728988033215185352</guid><pubDate>Tue, 13 Apr 2010 22:16:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-06-10T17:42:51.234+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Pier Paolo Pasolini</category><title>Ansia di futuro</title><description>&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Una nuova nazione è nata. I suoi problemi sono infiniti. Ma i problemi non si risolvono: si vivono, e la vita è lenta. Il procedere verso il futuro non ha soluzione di continuità. Il lavoro di un popolo non conosce né retorica né indugi. Il suo futuro è nella sua ansia di futuro, e la sua ansia è una grande pazienza. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- Pier Paolo Pasolini, "Appunti per un'Orestiade africana" (1970, RAI, circa 69° minuto)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-728988033215185352?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/04/ansia-di-futuro.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-5148535123653036712</guid><pubDate>Tue, 06 Apr 2010 22:35:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-06-10T17:42:27.343+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Ernest Hemingway</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Arrow</category><title>Something very rare</title><description>&lt;blockquote&gt;He is a Christian. Something very rare in Catholic countries.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;-- Ernest Hemingway, "For whom the bell tolls" (1941, Arrow, p. 297)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-5148535123653036712?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/04/something-very-rare.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-7388299922553052716</guid><pubDate>Tue, 30 Mar 2010 10:56:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-06-10T17:42:34.617+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Mondadori</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Giuseppe Ungaretti</category><title>Stasera</title><description>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;Balaustrata di brezza&lt;br /&gt;
Per appoggiare stasera&lt;br /&gt;
La mia malinconia&lt;/blockquote&gt;-- Giuseppe Ungaretti, "Stasera" (in "Vita d'un uomo", 1966, Mondadori, p. 21)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-7388299922553052716?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/03/stasera.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-3861584586418284669</guid><pubDate>Mon, 29 Mar 2010 16:11:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-06-10T17:42:27.346+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Ernest Hemingway</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Arrow</category><title>Very serious gente</title><description>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;'He is a communist,' Maria said. 'They are very serious gente.'&lt;br /&gt;
'Are you a communist?'&lt;br /&gt;
'No I am an anti-fascist.'&lt;br /&gt;
'For a long time?'&lt;br /&gt;
'Since I have understood fascism.'&lt;/blockquote&gt;-- Ernest Hemingway, "For whom the bell tolls" (1941, Arrow, p. 69)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-3861584586418284669?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/03/very-serious-gente.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6916325735286133065.post-7072314490542406575</guid><pubDate>Mon, 22 Mar 2010 21:56:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-06-10T17:42:27.349+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Mondadori</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Michail Bulgakov</category><title>Orripilanti bestemmie</title><description>&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Orripilanti bestemmie correvano per le file.&amp;nbsp; Pacchetti di sigarette volavano nell'aria illuminata della notte, e i denti bianchi schernivano dall'alto dei cavalli la folla impazzita.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;-- Michail Bulgakov, "Le uova fatali" (1942, Mondadori, p. 121)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6916325735286133065-7072314490542406575?l=cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://cassettodariordinare.blogspot.com/2010/03/orripilanti-bestemmie.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (mlkv)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item></channel></rss>

