The city rises (La città che sale). There were so many who believed, so many who hoped against hope for a precise, priceless future. They were so patient, so strong-willed. In their closed eyes, their visions were so clearcut and so certain that their dreams could not fail to be prophetic. But their scripts were diverse and contradictory, and they became tangled up as the scenarios melted away in the uncertainty of passing time. The colours, too bright, faded and were washed out by too many concessions, too many doubts.

They are so disillusioned today... Ideologies are dying out.

Danger is the ravine of our regrets, it is making nostalgia a poison that paralyses, making melancholy the arbiter of our failures. It would be easier to cry, to shout, to scourge ourselves and ask forgiveness. It is so dangerous to let ourselves be terrorised by the future, letting go of the steering wheel at top speed, slamming on the brakes, closing our eyes tight shut in a voiceless scream, ignoring all that comes after us and, through our own cowardice, becoming the very instrument of the collisions we fear the most.