Luciano Floridi

Nov 16, 2024 | medium.com | Luciano Floridi

Luciano Floridi·Follow2 min read·Nov 16, 2024--I journey on the bus, de facto known as line 84 — my alma mater of public transport, if you will. Ad interim, during the iter, I observe a persona non grata in situ, a bona fide troublemaker with a neck extending ad infinitum and, ipso facto, a most peculiar hat.

Nov 10, 2024 | medium.com | Luciano Floridi

Luciano Floridi·Follow1 min read·--I came to see you to get some rest. I thought I should share with you how things are going, some news, mostly dull, some memories, mostly old. Every new visit is a revisit of the past: some random recollections, coming as they wish, many remembrances, carefully rehearsed from our family’s well-thumbed repertoire. It’s dark and humid inside, slightly chilly, but it is a glorious blue day you would have enjoyed, in this beautiful spot of our village.

Oct 23, 2024 | medium.com | Luciano Floridi

Luciano Floridi·Follow1 min read·--They come like summery, noisy tourists, their chatty voices loudly intruding. They fly away, like birds scared by a September sudden shot. Intruders, uninvited. The richness of this island depends on them, I know. But so does its impoverishment. I can’t stand them, welcoming them. I lovingly dislike them. I pointlessly need them. This island cannot survive by itself, but dies once exposed. If I were left alone, I would be so much poorer, whispers the island. And I know.

Oct 13, 2024 | medium.com | Luciano Floridi

Luciano Floridi·Follow2 min read·--You know that your life will be an exact, finite number of days, so you should try to use them wisely. What you should also know is that you have a finite number of words. 20,000 a day, they say. Often fewer, for the consummate taciturn. More for the chatty and talkative. But one day, even if you monologue for the rest of your life, you will utter the last word.

Oct 5, 2024 | medium.com | Luciano Floridi

Luciano Floridi·Follow1 min read·--Success is not the poem read, but the one re-read endlessly times, so often that you can’t help remembering it. Not the book published, but the book that keeps being reprinted. For that is a definition of classic. Not the object that is bought, but the same kind of object that is immediately bought to replace what stopped working, because you miss it and can’t do without it.