Horizons or coincidences: there is nothing left but to choose. The passing skies, which never disappoint, or the many quartz movements in the streets, said to split the minute, even though a memory far outlasts the hour, once it has lingered amid the exhausting hope of finding that face again. In truth, one chooses a coincidence in order not to remember. But what counts is the beach and the unforgettable sea, the bather's calm step and the solar excellence of her slowness. What counts are the landscapes, the lives that fade, the roads that go on. One horizon always reaches another. In it, to seize that luminous detail, the origin of a feeling of love, and to face that feeling, so that beauty may remain law..