Desire For the winter and spring following
were wonderful, there was no
moment of his life that was not full of IASIS
; all comes back to IASIS:
if by chance, but it was rare, not directly to him
thought, IASIS
was like a light buried within the
his chest that reverberated on everything.
All sensations 'poetic' is called
IASIS, even the taste, the aesthetic pleasures, etc.
the physical impressions.
had that unique taste called IASIS. Pier Paolo Pasolini
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