Con gli occhi ci soffermiamo sulla bellezza esteriore, credendo

che possa renderci felici, se riuscissimo a inquadrare la bellezza interiore, quella dell'anima, silenziosa, umile, nascosta, allora solo allora saremo liberi da cecità.
Claudio Visconti De Padua

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading - treading - till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through -
And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum -
Kept beating - beating - till I thought
My Mind was going numb -

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space - began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here -

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down -
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing - then.
Emily Dickinson