We have aged not only in years but in terms of goals to be achieved. We have reached the limits of time, thousands have shaken the barriers. The time has come to moderate. We have discovered the lie of spring’s pale extinction, and our wounded hands testify to the invalidity of the last walls. But we don’t have to send our poor dreams like doves of peace over that tape; they won’t return. We need to be men. We need eternity, because only this gives space for our gestures; even knowing we are in a narrow sadness. Within such limits we have to create an infinity, since we no longer believe in extinction. We don’t have to think about the large, flourishing country, but remember the walled garden, which also has its infinite: summer. Please help us in this work. Creating a summer, this is what we need. … We are no longer naive: but we have to force ourselves to become primitive, to be able to start with those who really are. We have to become creatures of spring to reach the summer to be announced in its splendor. No coincidence, whim or fashion has brought us back to Raphael’s predecessors. We are the distant heirs called to many heirs. I would always like to tell someone (I don’t know to whom): “Don’t be sad”. This is for me like an intimate confession to be pronounced softly, slowly, in a deep twilight.