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Orchidea_Porpora

  • Donna
  • 47
  • Milano
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Mi descrivo

Sfrontata e sensibile,allegra e dolente. Autoironica, irrequieta, introspettiva, atea. Intuitiva, curiosa, volubile. Credo nella lussuria a prima vista, ma non nell'amore a prima vista. Amo la parola anima, ma non la parola gemella. Più cerebrale che emotiva.

Su di me

Situazione sentimentale

single

Lingue conosciute

Inglese, Albanese,

I miei pregi

-

I miei difetti

-

Amo & Odio

Tre cose che amo

  1. Roma, Viaggiare, La Buona Cucina, Calvados, Vino
  2. Verdi,Beethoven,Bach,Tenco,Pink Floyd,Led Zepellin
  3. Leggere, Musica Classica, la Danza, le Partenze

Tre cose che odio

  1. Le scenate
  2. La possessività
  3. Ostentare l'ignoranza

I miei interessi

Vacanze Ok!

  • Prendo l'auto e parto

Vacanze Ko!

  • Spirituale
  • Passioni

    • Arte
    • Cinema
    • Viaggi

    Musica

    • Lirica
    • Rock

    Cucina

    • Piatti italiani

    Libri

    • Saggi
    • Narrativa

    Sport

    • Pallavolo

    Film

    • Documentario

    Libro preferito

    Omero, Remarque, Zweig, Tolkien, Márquez, Ibsen, Tolstoy

    Meta dei sogni

    Australia e Nuova Zelanda, Russia

    Film preferito

    Umberto D, Citizen Kane, Indagine su un cittadino al di sopra di ogni sospetto, The Ascent, C'era una volta in America

    Moment of being

    It was a melancholy secret that reality can arouse desires but never satisfy them.

    Valse Triste

    ....

    I’ll tell you the story of the wave and the rock. It’s an old story. Older than we are. Listen. Once upon a time there was a wave who loved a rock in the sea, let us say in the Bay of Capri. The wave foamed and swirled around the rock, she kissed him day and night, she embraced him with her white arms, she sighed and wept and besought him to come to her. She loved him and stormed about him and in that way slowly undermined him, and one day he yielded, completely undermined, and sank into her arms. And suddenly he was no longer a rock to be played with, to be loved, to be dreamed of. He was only a block of stone at the bottom of the sea, drowned in her. The wave felt disappointed and deceived and looked for another rock “What does that mean? He should have remained a rock.” “The wave always says that. But things that move are stronger than immovable things. Water is stronger than rocks.”

    ...

    I did not want to think so much about her. I wanted to take her as an unexpected, delightful gift, that had come and would go again — nothing more. I meant not to give room to the thought that it could ever be more. I knew too well that all love has the desire for eternity and that therein lies its eternal torment. Nothing lasts. Nothing.
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