Pisa Italy Quotes

She was never tired of praising Italy at the expense of England. “. . . our poor English,” she exclaimed, “want educating into gladness. They want refining not in the fire but in the sunshine.” Here in Italy were freedom and life and the joy that the sun breeds. One never saw men fighting, or heard them swearing; one never saw the Italians drunk;—“the faces of those men” in Shoreditch came again before her eyes. She was always comparing Pisa with London and saying how much she preferred Pisa.

Worldwide, gods tend to look like their human worshippers, e.g., in this case, black-skinned. Interestingly, all around the Mediterranean the Christian Madonna and Child appear in very old images and statuary as black, like their Egyptian predecessors: Examples may be found in the Cathedral at Moulins, the Chapel of the Virgin at Loretto, the Church of St. Stephen at Genoa, that of St. Francisco at Pisa and in many other places. There is "scarcely an old church in Italy where some remains of the black virgin and black child are not to be met with." In this regard, "the black god Chrishna was but a symbol of the Sun, and...the black virgin mother was nothing more than the virgin of the constellations, painted black..."146

But soon Flush became aware of the more profound differences that distinguish Pisa—it was in Pisa that they were now settled—from London. The dogs were different. In London he could scarcely trot round to the pillar-box without meeting some pug dog, retriever, bulldog, mastiff, collie, Newfoundland, St. Bernard, fox terrier or one of the seven famous families of the Spaniel tribe. To each he gave a different name, and to each a different rank. But here in Pisa, though dogs abounded, there were no ranks; all—could it be possible?—were mongrels. As far as he could see, they were dogs merely—grey dogs, yellow dogs, brindled dogs, spotted dogs; but it was impossible to detect a single spaniel, collie, retriever or mastiff among them. Had the Kennel Club, then, no jurisdiction in Italy? Was the Spaniel Club unknown? Was there no law which decreed death to the topknot, which cherished the curled ear, protected the feathered foot, and insisted absolutely that the brow must be domed but not pointed? Apparently not. Flush felt himself like a prince in exile. He was the sole aristocrat among a crowd of canaille. He was the only pure-bred cocker spaniel in the whole of Pisa.

The University of Pisa, whose scientific reputation throughout Italy was second only to that of Padua, was informed by official decree: 'His Highness [Cosimo III] will allow no professor ... to read or teach, in public or private, by writing or by voice, the philosophy of Democritus, or of atoms, or any saving that of Aristotle.' There was no avoiding this educational censorship, for at the same time a decree was issued forbidding citizens of Tuscany from attending any university beyond its borders, while philosophers and intellectuals who disobeyed this decree were liable to punitive fines or even imprisonment. Gone were the days when the Medici were the patrons of poets and scientists; Florence, once one of the great intellectual and cultural centres of Europe, now sank into repression and ignorance.

Alla sfida mondiale dei robot c’è una star ed è «made in Italy» Lorenza Castagneri | 454 parole L’umanoide del futuro, il robot che potrebbe sostituire l’uomo in molte emergenze, è italiano. Ha l’altezza di un corazziere - 1 metro e 85 - e mani agilissime. Pesa più di 100 chili, sa camminare, può aprire le porte, usare il trapano, afferrare un oggetto dietro la schiena senza voltarsi, perché ha braccia capaci di piegarsi all’indietro e piegarsi in avanti per raccogliere un oggetto. Si chiama Walkman (nelle foto) e l’hanno inventato all’Iit, l’Istituto italiano di tecnologia di Genova, in collaborazione con il Centro di ricerche «E. Piaggio» dell’Università di Pisa e grazie al contributo della Commissione Europea. Tra meno di un mese parteciperà a una competizione internazionale lanciata dalla Darpa, l’agenzia per la ricerca avanzata del dipartimento della Difesa americano. Obiettivo: definire gli standard tecnologici per i robot da impiegare in caso di disastri ambientali, alluvioni, terremoti e incendi. La gara si chiama «Darpa robotics challenge» e si svolgerà il 5 e il 6 giugno a Pomona, Los Angeles. Walkman e gli scienziati che lo guideranno saranno gli unici a rappresentare il nostro Paese e l’Europa. L’invito a prendere parte alla competizione è arrivato dagli organizzatori a fine 2013: «Considerata la forza delle idee dell’Iit, siamo certi che la sua partecipazione aumenterà la qualità della competizione», ha scritto Gill Pratt, responsabile dell’evento a Nikolaos Tsagarakis, che guiderà il team genovese. Da allora è cominciata una corsa contro il tempo per mettere a punto Walkman, che dovrà vedersela con le creature messe a punto da altre 24 squadre, tra cui la stessa Darpa e la Nasa, provenienti non solo dagli Usa, ma anche da Giappone, Corea, Cina e Hong Kong. I robot dovranno dimostrare, tra l’altro, di sapersi muovere e prendere decisioni in autonomia, salire le scale, oltrepassare ostacoli. Persino guidare un veicolo tipo Ranger: la prova più complicata che attende i ricercatori dell’Iit. E per rendere la situazione più realistica, in più fasi delle prove, le comunicazioni robot-scienziati saranno interrotte. «Siamo orgogliosi. Walkman è la dimostrazione che anche l’Europa, e su tutti l’Italia, gioca un ruolo decisivo per lo sviluppo del settore», ha commentato Roberto Cingolani, il direttore scientifico dell’Iit. Tanto che presto il robot sarà messo alla prova in situazioni di emergenza vere, definite con la Protezione civile. Ma quella della Darpa sarà una sfida che coinvolgerà anche i team che comandano i robot. Per individuare i primi tre classificati - a cui andrà un finanziamento di 3 milioni e mezzo di dollari - saranno valutati il software e l’interfaccia di controllo, oltre che le tecnologie per garantire alla macchina equilibrio, agilità ed efficienza energetica.

There's no messing with perfection. (Okay, a little messing, just for fun.) A few crystals of coarse sea salt, a drizzle of local olive oil, and a sprig or two of purple basil. Sliced and layered in a white ceramic dish, the tomatoes often match the hues of the local sunsets--- reds and golds, yellows and pinks. If there were such a thing in our house as "too pretty to eat," this would be it. Thankfully, there's not. If I'm not exactly cooking, I have done some impromptu matchmaking: baby tomatoes with smoked mozzarella, red onions, fennel, and balsamic vinegar. A giant yellow tomato with a local sheep's milk cheese and green basil. Last night I got a little fancy and layered slices of beefsteak tomato with pale green artichoke puree and slivers of Parmesan. I constructed the whole thing to look like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I love to think of the utterly pretentious name this would be given in a trendy Parisian bistro: Millefeuille de tomate provençale, tapenade d'artichaut et coppa de parmesan d'Italie (AOC) sur son lit de salade, sauce aigre douce aux abricots. And of course, since this is a snooty Parisian bistro and half their clientele are Russian businessmen, the English translation would be printed just below: Tomato napoleon of artichoke tapenade and aged Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese on a bed of mixed greens with sweet-and-sour apricot vinaigrette. The sauce abricot was a happy accident. While making the dressing for the green salad, I mistook a bottle of peach/apricot syrup for the olive oil. Since I didn't realize my mistake until it was at the bottom of the bowl, I decided to try my luck. Mixed with Dijon mustard and some olive oil, it was very nice--- much sweeter than a French vinaigrette, more like an American-style honey Dijon. I decided to add it to my pretentious Parisian bistro dish because, believe it or not, Parisian bistros love imitating American food. Anyone who has been in Paris in the past five years will note the rise of le Tchizzberger. (That's bistro for "cheeseburger.") I'm moderate in my use of social media, but I can't stop taking pictures of the tomatoes. Close up, I've taken to snapping endless photos of the voluptuously rounded globes. I rejoice in the mingling of olive oil and purply-red flesh. Basil leaves rest like the strategically placed tassels of high-end strippers. Crystals of sea salt catch the afternoon sun like rhinestones under the glaring lights of the Folies Bergère. I may have invented a whole new type of food photography: tomato porn.

Marco Polo’s father, Niccolò Polo, traded with the Persians who were known to the early Europeans. These early Persians came from the province of Fârs, sometimes known in Old Persian as Pârsâ, located in the southwestern region of Iran. As a people, they were united under the Achaemenid Dynasty in the 6th century BC, by Cyrus the Great. In 1260, Niccolò Polo and his brother Maffeo lived in Constantinople, now Istanbul, Turkey. After the Mongol conquest of Asia Minor, the Polo brothers liquidated their assets into tangible valuables such as gold and jewels and moved out of harm’s way. Having heard of advanced eastern civilizations the brothers traveled through much of Asia, and even met with the Kublai Khan, the grandson of Genghis Khan, who later became emperor of China and established the Yuan Dynasty. Not being the first to travel east of Iran, they had heard numerous stories regarding the riches to be discovered in the Far East. Twenty-four years later in 1295, after traveling almost 15,000 miles, they returned to Venice with many riches and treasures. The Polo brothers had experienced a quarter century of adventures on their way to Asia that were later transcribed into The Book of Marco Polo by a writer named Rustichello, who came from Pisa in Tuscany, Italy. This was the beginning of a quest that motivated explorers, including Christopher Columbus, from that time on.

The story of numbers in the West begins in 1202, when the cathedral of Chartres was nearing completion and King John was finishing his third year on the throne of England. In that year, a book titled Liber Abaci, or Book of the Abacus, appeared in Italy. The fifteen chapters of the book were entirely handwritten; almost three hundred years would pass before the invention of printing. The author, Leonardo Pisano, was only 27 years old but a very lucky man: his book would receive the endorsement of the Holy Roman Emperor, Frederick II. No author could have done much better than that.1 Leonardo Pisano was known for most of his life as Fibonacci, the name by which he is known today. His father’s first name was Bonacio, and Fibonacci is a contraction of son-of-Bonacio. Bonacio means “simpleton” and Fibonacci means “blockhead.” Bonacio must have been something less than-a simpleton, however, for he represented Pisa as consul in a number of different cities, and his son Leonardo was certainly no blockhead.