It is difficult to escape the rudimentary reflection thinking about the first time that love made one. For who is not that one of the most important dates in his life? True many times, at least in my time, is so surrounded by frustrated conatuses, achievements in halfway and fantasies, which is difficult to decide if on a certain date we had made love, or rather not but almost. But there’s more: says Pavese which does not exist the first time. Every man makes it a second time: doing something seemingly new, soon discovers that he is repeating a mythical archetype, the gesture of a God, only possible author of a true first time. Idea not far from which disseminated by then by Mircea Eliade on mythical thinking. I myself have described years ago (on the subject of the movie of Alain Resnais Je t aime, je t aime) how love begins not never: one starts to be in love with the day that one wonders when began to be in love with. Source of the news:: was there ever?