Quotes
[first lines]
Jenny Brooks
[narrating]
The garden once fair, became cold and foul, like the corpse of her had been its soul. Which at first was lovely, as if in sleep, and slowly changed 'til it grew a heap, to make men tremble and never sleep. Shelley, my favorite poet. He was English, but he wrote these lines right here in Tuscany. My father thinks that poetry is for people who haven't yet reached, or just lost the gift of reason.
