In ancient time it was called the hill as we would have said the sea or the bush. I would return there in the evening, from the darkening city, and for me it was not a place among others, but an aspect of things, a way of life. For example, I saw no difference between those hills and these ancient ones where I played as a child and now I live: always a rough and winding terrain, cultivated and wild, always roads, farmhouses and ravines. I went up there in the evening as if I too were fleeing the night start of the alarms, and the streets swarmed with people, poor people who flocked to sleep perhaps in the meadows, carrying the mattress on their bicycles or on their backs, shouting and arguing, indocile, credulous and amused.
“Cesare Pavese”
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