"Each void is overcome, each interstice is filled.
Down to the metal it penetrated the cells and
the channels from which life
disappeared long ago.
The numb compact matter has replaced the other in its farthest shelters.
It adopted its precise shapes, the thinnest grooves
so well that the former imprint
is committed to the great album of the ages.
The signatory has disappeared,
each profile, the token of a different miracle,
remains as an immortal autograph".
"No object, no thing exists
and has relevance in human society if not for
the meaning men can bestow on them".
"Often, vegetation or triangles design
simulacrums representing the highest peaks
of those diversions through which stone
can boast puzzling the imagination".
"Expert appraisers of the many different stone types began searching for beautiful stones in the Arno River into which many canals and streams, big and small, flow. These often impetuous tributaries, bear to the Arno many rocks and stones that today can be sawn and polished revealing many fantasies and jests made by Mother Nature: little trees, even eyes and it is said they change from one colour to another. These cut stones can be found in the fine-looking tables produced nowadays with many inlaid stones, or in the squared stones or little ovals which are placed upon writings. These stones can still be found in many brooks and in the Arno River especially under the bridge in Rignano and, from there, all the way to the city of Florence".
Agostino Del Riccio
Istoria delle Pietre - Florence – A.D. 1597
Dell'Alberese del Fiume d'Arno - Cap. 88 (Text interpreted from the Old Italian language)
"Orange stains…… of oxide
green veins upon limestone peace
that foam beats with its keys
or dawn with its rose,
this is how these stones are:
if they came from the sea
or if they are returning to the sea,
something surprised them while they were living,
in immobility they passed away
and built a dead city.
A city with no shouts, no kitchens,
a solemn fence…… of purity,
pure forms fallen
in disarray with no resurrection,
in a multitude that lost its gaze
in a grey monastery
doomed to the naked truth of its gods".
Pablo Neruda - Florence 1951