he had the unmistakable facial morphology of a genius.1 He gave signs of alarming precocity, but his glance was veiled by the melancholy characterizing insurmountable intelligence. I, on the other hand, was much less intelligent, but I reflected everything. I was to become the prototype par excellence of the phenomenally retarded “polymorphous perv

De pronto sintió que sollozaba. Le habían comenzado a brotar unas lágrimas que llegaban hasta su boca y le dejaban en los labios una humedad salada. ¿Por qué lloraba? Por el Jefe. Ya no habría otro Trujillo en su vida. Un hombre tan admirable, tan inteligente, tan astuto y enérgico, que, según le dijo un día, se había tirado a más de mil mujeres en

Morritt's wife recalled to a friend how Charlie always returned to mirror illusions, infatuated with their principles and eager to work out the next idea. She described how he used to retire for the evening with small pieces of looking glass under his pillow.

When he began painting The Last Supper around 1495, Leonardo was at a high point in his career. With his official appointment as artist and engineer of the Sforza court, he was comfortably ensconced at Milan’s old palace, the Corte Vecchia, with his retinue of assistants and students. He was renowned as a painter, admired as the sculptor of the mam