"He laughed at the Gospels, Bibles and Korans, as if at lies born of cowardice and human impotence, and for the same reason he could not stand men, masses of mediocrities, broken pieces of a glass window that never existed, gusts of wind without direction, credulous , losers, pathetic to the point of getting together to be able to shout at someone: only great minds deserved great passions, only great players deserved the world."

"Cold, almost metallic, magical and horrifying at the same time, slow to pronounce, as if the words were jewels of dark brilliance."

"Cut it out. I'm tired of who I was, not who I will be. Of who I already am, in truth, because among all beings in nature only men are able to change, erase and rewrite: we have a choice, an escape route."

"Sometimes life takes the form of a dream and you have to start all over again like a newborn baby amazed and in disbelief at not finding its mother's breast."

"It is a story of love and art, but above all of destinies, of paths intertwined by the sky, which at a certain point we no longer recognize and do not want to follow, because if man is not master of the universe, as he says Bruno, however, is always his own master."

"He stopped nostalgia, put it on the wall and stuck it in his heart forever as a way of life."

"It is an irreducible wait without the slightest idea of hope, it is a stubbornness of the heart that does not want to surrender to the line of destiny."

"It means that "non-freedom" is freedom."

"And among all these thoughts, a deep melancholy of something that not even he knew what it was came to his mind and ran through his heart, something lost or never grasped, a shadow deep down in his soul, a confused trait of human instability, of the condemnation to find happiness to never be happy."

"I write to get out, to escape from these infinite, useless stories of nothing that are the trials, the wars, the expeditions, the conquests, even the gods: millions of grains of Syriac sand that a wave is enough to sweep them away."

"We live by whispers and not by screams."

"I stand there, stupid with broken dreams."

"Past. The flight of doves has darkened the clouds, the word given is a breath, it has blended with the sky, it has mixed with the earth, it keeps the worms company."

"I found some breath again, my breath: now I can read myself, as if in a mirror. I contemplate my face, my misery. Enough. Enough. How many times have I told myself this? How many times have I gone back?"

"Away, away, other roads, other seas, a different sky of unknown stars: so that even the stars do not know me, do not know who I am."

"You write because you don't live: it is an excuse, a defense, a surrender."

"I don't cry, I don't know how to cry, I never learned to do it. I don't know emotion, only regret and yearning: I know annoyance and boredom, absence and rejection. I have a lump in my throat, here, now, but I don't even try to shed tears, because if I had to do it once I wouldn't stop for all the days I have left."

"It was like apologizing, to you, but also to me."

"If we are armed and trained, we are able to convince men that we too have hands, feet and a heart like theirs and that even if we are delicate and tender, there are delicate men who can be strong and vulgar and violent men who they are cowards. Women have not yet understood that they should behave like this, in this way they would be able to fight to the death and to demonstrate that this is true, I will be the first to act, setting myself up as a model. (Veronica Franco)"

"It seems impossible to you men, because you cannot read inside it. But we don't have yesterday and tomorrow, we only have the moment that remains and doesn't pass, what has been doesn't count, what will be doesn't exist: every fragment, every day is a part of itself: every day of joy is like eternal and that is our secret. It seems impossible to you men, because you don't know happiness. (horse towards men)"

"In an instant, and don't ask me why, I saw all the evil, all the hypocrisy of the world winning with impunity, crushing beauty, truth and... and I was moved."

"Nothing moves, neither here nor there, nor within me. And it is in those moments that I realize it: nothing lives so intensely as time stands still; because it is not the people running, the objects falling, the voices resounding, that make life: those are inexact imitations of life."

"It wasn't just to stay indoors, shelter from the rain: there must have been in them the absolute certainty of being more than the passing day, beyond the years and beyond time."

"The wonder of memory was nothing compared to what was happening in my mind and soul."

"[...] beauty is this dress that you feel sewn on, soft, warm, indestructible, among many others that always lack something."

"I thought: it's like when you meet a person and their eyes, arm, shoulders, feet, hair are no longer there; those things are not the person, not even put all together: the person is something else."

"I am a man: there is nothing else, neither the journey nor the meetings count, the storm and the sun do not count, the days, the hours do not count; the meaning of things doesn't even matter, whether it shines or goes out. I am a man and that's it: beyond and beyond, with or without all this."

"But this is how desperation is, like a prayer without an addressee."

"Angelo Branduardi"

"Roberto Vecchioni, The bookseller of Selinunte, Einaudi, Turin, C.E.2004. ISBN 88-06-16739-1"

"Roberto Vecchioni, The Song of the Theater Song. Notes on the specificity of a language; in Gaber, Giorgio, il Signor G. Told by intellectuals, friends, artists, edited by Andrea Pedrinelli, Kowalski, Milan, C.E.2008, pp. 207-210. ISBN 978-88-7496-754-4"

"Roberto Vecchioni, Scacco a Dio, Einaudi, Turin, C.E.2009. ISBN 978-88-06-19849-7"

"We don't go out much in the evening, including when it's a holiday | and there are those who have placed sandbags near the window. | And we go without speaking for weeks at a time and to those who have nothing to say | some time remains., side B, n. 5)"

"I don't find the hustle and bustle, | when I take a seat I don't swallow, but disgust, | in bed I don't put it with the torso and not the whip, | I don't stare at the abyss like Cousteau, | nor the space like Houston, | (From Torna catalessi, n. 3)"

"Announce me to the public | first of immediately with expression of jubilation. | Announce me to the public | although I doubt that everyone will follow me... | down to the underworld, up with souls, | down follow me, down, more and more. (from Announce me to the public, n. 2)"

"I don't frieze with a coffin that gives me | esteem and good name in the cathedral and in the mosque, | I don't like the bara Versace I like the plebean coffin, | mine the idea of shopping at IKEA. (from Announce me to the public, n. 2)"

"On the S suppository Truths record I gave more space to musicians and moved away from rap stereotypes to follow a more personal path. (Caparezza, Mental sagas)"

"On Out of the tunnel The message of criticism of the decerebrate fun and at all costs seemed clear to me. And instead you could hear it everywhere, it was the soundtrack of trendy bars, it was the ringtone of every mobile phone."

"The only certainty is that I end up badly: | CapaRezza dies, everyone at the funeral. | It's paradoxical, | but I don't come, I don't care. | (From Jodellavitanonhocapitouncazzo, n. 14)"

"I am alive, but I don't live because I breathe, | I feel alive only if I take off the stylus and write. (from Jodellavitanonhocapitouncazzo, n. 14)"

"I'm sure I get fed up, | I swear on every tuft, | I should play the trumpet for how many times I puff, | if I dive into one of my ideas | I find myself in apnea | in a flood of diarrhea, | I find it funny. (from Jodellavitanonhocapitouncazzo 14)"

"Stzzo da schifo, | I drink to sbafo, | escaped my fate as a clandestine in a hull. (from Jodellavitanonhocapitouncazzo, n. 14)"

"I'm happy in the fece, | I should cry and instead... (from Jodellavitanonhocapitouncazzo, n. 14)"

"I don't do show, | I give a show like | my grandfather drunk on the day of my communion. | So out of melon | that I have relatives not at all happy | to carry my own last name. | Leave me the presumption | to feel manure | sometimes hard, sometimes sewage. (from Jodellavitanonhocapitouncazzo, n. 14)"

"I've been in therapy for days: | "Hello doctor, | I need cures for schizophrenia, | I see ghosts with all the crismi in my house, | they told me that it's all the result of fantasy", | yes, | they are right, | but the question, is that tonight the vision gave me with"

"Let's pull the rug out | and then let's put on some skates | to slide better over hatred. | Control tower, help | I'm running out of air in the tank. (from Universal Judgements, n. 1)"