As I said to my friend and pupil Pancetti, as we walked on the Via Corso, Rome is the only place a true artist and human can think clearly. Pancetti, firstly my friend, and only then my pupil. My pupils could only become so after first being my friend. Or rather, my pupils would only accept me as their tutor after they accepted me as their friend. And that would only be possible in Rome, the only place a true artist and human can think clearly. Pancetti smiled and agreed. I can think clearly here, in Rome, on the Via Corso, unlike in Austria, that base land of the petite bourgeois. Petite bourgeois Austria, that land of the self-satisfied yeoman, satisfied in all their base passtimes. Lower Austria is the place where all that is high minded goes to stultify and die. No, I will never leave Rome again, I told Pancetti, I will never go from where I can think clearly as an artist and a human and return to self-satisfied Austia, petite bourgeois Lower Austria. Pancetti only smiled and continued to walk on his perfectly polished loafers, bought only from the most expensive shops in the Via Corso. He is so excellently cultured, the very finest human in the world – a human like him could only exist in Rome, never could have arisen in base Lower Austria, to which I shall never go back. I walked down the Via Corso…
Repeat for three hundred pages, and then you get a new paragraph