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In the heart of Tuscany!

From the window of the butcher you see the red towers gleaming in the morning, the roofs of old coral, olive trees that rise from the hills as a slight silvery mist, and the fields, vineyards, golden woods of Montagnola down there, towards Volterra.
“Maledetti Toscani, 1956”

I love my homeland. I like to touch, feel consistency. And certain places Etruscans, Talamona, Volterra, have the colors, the air, the light cuts most magical land.
“La Repubblica, 1998”

Volterra! Behind a bald hill marma chalky, on top of the mountain as on the edge of a Dante’s circle, suddenly appeared along the lineament walled and turreted. “Forse che sì, forse che no, 1910”

Volterra is alive and secret, present and distant, made of stones and breaths. I seemed to hear footsteps, voices, and therefore something elusive persists in the city; parlottio a mysterious, arcane forms of spending, a landscape of shadows. “Colloquio, 1985”