The unsolved problems pile up and inevitably produce catastrophes at regular intervals. The Italians always see the next one approaching with a clear eye, but, like sleepers in a nightmare, cannot do anything to ward it off.

Experienced travelers, and the Italians themselves, naturally enough, believe that no professional courtesan in Europe beats the Italian.

Most sons of famous men lead mediocre lives, particularly those who have their fathers' Christian names and follow in their footsteps.

Many foreign tourists try to speak Italian. A few creditably manage this in a short time. Others think they do.

Words [spoken by Americans] were usually ejected in lumps, at enormous speed, groups of them strung together like rushing railroad cars without perceptible separations.

Great art must be guided by an invisible technique; it must seem the spontaneous blossom of the moment's mood and impulse.

There are sultry days in July and August when the [Italian] cities, emptied by the natives, are almost completely taken over by the swarms of dusty and perspiring foreigners.

The sweet life has always attracted travelers, to Venice in the months of the famous Carnival and elsewhere at different times of the year, down the centuries.

Often in other countries, one is waited on by people who obviously believe they were destined for better things but were forced by cruel fate to accept a degrading occupation, so degrading in fact as to bring them in contact with people like you. This never happens in Italy.

The pleasure of Italy comes from living in a world made by man, for man, on man's measurements.