Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Filosofia dell’anima – Ancora SULLA NATURA DEL MALE. Hermann Göring: “Almeno ho vissuto 12 anni decenti!”. E sul progetto salviniano di schedatura dei Rom.
Mi colpisce, mentre passa il tempo dai giorni in cui studiavo per scrivere il saggio “Sulla natura del Male”, quanto tanto di quel materiale sia rimasto dentro di [...]