Life is the woman who loves you, the wind in your hair, sun on your face, the walk night with a friend. Life is also a woman who leaves you, a rainy day, the friend who deceives you.
I am neither melancholic nor manic depression - died horrifies me, unfortunately what I have left is no longer life - is only a stubborn and senseless obstinacy maintain the biological functions.
My body is not mine ... is there, spread before doctors, carers, relatives. If I were Swiss, Belgian or Dutch I could escape from this utter outrage, but I'm Italian and there is no pity.
I am neither melancholic nor manic depression - died horrifies me, unfortunately what I have left is no longer life - is only a stubborn and senseless obstinacy maintain the biological functions.
My body is not mine ... is there, spread before doctors, carers, relatives. If I were Swiss, Belgian or Dutch I could escape from this utter outrage, but I'm Italian and there is no pity.
Piergiorgio Welby
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