I saw all the looks in each old city alley, portraits depicted on the walls of trachyte.  I came across them for a moment, lost characters in search of an author. Pitch eyes and salt faces with an ancient expression. They are artists, thieves, employees, partisans, Tupamaros, refugees, dreamers and sailor men. They are people, images, forgotten pictures inside living books. They are the man’s resistance, where every wrinkle, every smile, every expression is a page of life.

I came across the faces of Alghero and then, travelling before the sea, the watermark hearts of Sardinia.

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