“But you know what Rumi was?
Rumi, Rumi, Rumi. Come on, let’s reveal it: Rumi was a motorcycle. No, it was more: he was the mother of all the motorbikes and also of all the current scooters. She was a mother, as often happens, more beautiful than her daughter, pretty, yes, but not like her. The cute daughter of a beautiful mother is unexceptionable, she has all the right stuff in the right place. In the case of new generation bikes the welds are invisible, the joints are exact, the line is unquestionably current and the noise, but it would be better to say the sound, the voice, is correct. It is the sound of efficiency, of regularity, of war against the unexpected. In the end, however, they are all the same. The beauty of Rumi, or the mother, was like that of Sophia Loren; it was wild, it was unique, it was strength and miracle of nature. In that case, the nature was, I’m surprised to say, that of the best Italy we had in our short (150 years: in the end what are?) National history. (Silvio Saffirio)