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Unformatted text preview: Not a word was wasted. Imagine it-the great infant that I was, learning from people's smallest gestures and slightest confes- sions all the major truths of life. That is what was happening inside my mind. By night I learned to read and finally to write, and I wrote con- stantly, taking as little sleep as I could. I memorized songs and poems. I studied the paintings of the Basilica, the great murals by Giotto which tell all the significant events of Francis's life, including how the stig- mata came to him-the wounds in his hands and feet from God. And I went out among the pilgrims to talk to them, to hear what they had to say of the world. The first year of which I knew the date was 1536. I went often to Florence, to give to the poor, to visit their hovels and bring bread and something to drink. Florence was still a city of the Medici. Perhaps she was past her great glory, as some have said since, but I don't think at the time that anyone would have said such a thing. On the contrary, Florence was a magnificent and thriving place. Printed books were sold there by th...
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This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10