The dusk is settling over the city. Prague, like a beautiful woman, starts to get dressed into her evening robe to show off her astonishing charms. Slowly, one by one her hundred golden spires light up like precious stones, embellishing her breath-taking beauty. Unforgettable moment.
Prague, I am turning you in my fingers like a precious amethyst. But no. That’s only a vision in a magical mirror made of dusty crystals, like Prague itself. A vision of a man, who full of excitement keeps getting lost while looking for himself, a man whose fate became to find himself by getting lost.
Vítězslav Nezval
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