The Americans offered me work in a laboratory, but I didn’t want. I was nostalgic for Italy. I missed the artistic tradition. I missed the warmth of human contact. I missed the laundry hanging in streets and people singing from open windows.
“My husband was an editor at the New York Times, so he’d work really late nights, and I’d sometimes get lonely. So I started letting this tomcat into our house everyday. But my husband was horribly allergic to cats, so right before he’d get home, I’d let the cat back out again. But one night it was raining so hard that I refused to let the cat out, and my husband stayed up all night sneezing. And that’s how I got a puppy!”
You know how they say that when you’re dying, you’re supposed to go toward the light? Well, when I thought I was dying, the light was moving further and further away.
“My first marriage lasted ten years.”
“A wise man once told me: ‘Religious ideology set aside, a relationship needs two things to survive: sex and money.’
And mine didn’t have much of either.”