"There is one knows not what sweet mystery about this sea, whose gently awful stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath."
“But now when the sun goes down and the holidaymakers start to leave and the local fisherman come and cast their lines from off the pier and are silhouetted by the red sunset, I think of the down-and-out bums lost in their alcoholic stupors. I think of the landscape; the rolling hills and snow-capped mountains. I think of the dead sheep lay in a heap among the herd. I think of the father and his mad son who are alone, and I think of Helena and my self and how we’re alone too. I think of the Senegalese vendors like ghosts who haunt the night, of those fishermen and of nature that surrounds us and at whose behest we may exist, and meanwhile it remains; the Pan di Zucchero, nature, the earth; enormous, mysterious, forever.”
"A mighty flame followeth a tiny spark."