Damn little frog fart, you are outdoing yourself and pulling out something not even Elly Schlein on acid.

 I can’t breathe, the sky is falling, my tongue is on fire...

 Rashomon becomes the most fascinating 'Rubik’s Cube' cinema has ever offered, capable of satisfying both the grandiose needs of the masses and the needs of the soul and intellectual acrobats.

 It is a quest for mystery through a series of different, even contradictory, testimonies that relativize to the point of deeply questioning the concept of truth.

 "Night tree bark, knives born from rust whisper the names, the time, and the hearts."

 "Fresh as the oblivion poppy the mouth that kisses it."

 Karen sings with a 'normalcy' that leaves one astonished, hiding a chasm you cannot help but be attracted to.

 That little album is a subdued scream, a rebellion born defeated, a whispered martyrdom of immeasurable talent burned by conformity.

 "Fragile pop gems, lost in the drift of a semi-asleep sound and almost at the limit of the perceptual threshold."

 "An album so beautiful that you don’t know whether to laugh or cry, and then a smile escapes from those who, at least for a moment, have found a home."

 ‘What kind of people are these... Humans, you say, what kind of primitive and incoherent people are they if they end up using kitchen means for... for...’

 ‘And yet the effect is indescribably beautiful, I don’t even know why, but it’s... beautiful, here.’

 ‘What kind of people are these... Humans, you say, what kind of primitive and incoherent people are they if they end up using kitchen means for... for...’

 ‘And yet the effect is indescribably beautiful, I don’t even know why, but it’s... beautiful, here.’

 "A spectral echo of the harmonica traces the way. One could drive with eyes closed, far from home."

 "Cowboy boots and hat but sitting in a tea room drinking excellent Earl Grey, strictly stained with one-fifth milk."

 The improbable manifests itself with the simplicity of the everyday.

 The art of zoom to assert: "heard up close, everything is a world".

 Listening to it, in fact, I fell in love with Sarah Records.

 You hear the track and think of a radio station broadcasting only for you and it’s like casting off among the sparks of guitar light.

 "Thought Gang is ultimately a Spiritual Commando that tends to isolationism and psychic communication."

 "In the chaos of noise are hidden all the potential sounds that can become music."

 "'The Jeweller' is very sad, but its chorus is like the smile of the muse, and the muse’s smile reaches even the most remote corners."

 "Tears, after all, resemble certain stars."

 "A brave truth-teller who, with a wink and a smile, showed us who we are."

 "Prine’s writing is characterized by simplicity and humor, a poet of the everyday direct and accessible, deeply human, unmistakably American but universal."

 The world is a computer. I am a number. My body? Do I still have a body? Am I still my body?

 It’s the end of the world, let’s get comfortable, relax, and enjoy its death.

 The day John Foxx left the group was declared a national day of mourning.

 Here, all together and all in one go, you have ice, heat, chaos, and intelligence, which, in one word, means a bomb.

 The mausoleum of the hero’s physical courage shatters in front of the chains of the will to power.

 Finally, justice applied to human flesh is necrosis where the amputation of the Divine arrives inevitably.

 "If you want a bed of roses you have to learn to sleep with the thorns."

 "Here night turns to day, winter to spring, and stars to needle points."

 "Which band on their first record could host David Sylvian and Steve Howe and start an album with a rhythmic and hypnotic song, using Poe’s ‘Dream Within a Dream’ as lyrics? These guys aren’t normal, they’ll become huge!"

 "Now the cassette is yours, you are my sister and you my brother, even if you are Genoese..."

 The end is not a defeat. You don’t cry, just smile.

 The monster dies but it dies still hungry—it's had its fill of lives.

 Riderless Horse is what happens when one no longer laughs, our sun eclipses, and there is no more desire to dance or knit.

 In its own way, a small monument to the spirit’s ability to survive despite everything.