My mind swirled with memories of the life I had led. The constant struggle to keep up appearances, the pretenses, the smiles that had been met with tears. The long sleepless nights, the loneliness that cloaked my spirit and turned me into a true ghost.

I think about giving up. I almost do.

If one wants to get a boat ride, one must be near the river.

I was happy not to be in his place. He could command my death, but not his. But then, what kind of power was his? He was a prisoner of himself.

Do you know who Karl Marx is? He is this strange little man, long dead, who lived his narrow little life, and somehow managed by the power of his wayward brain to lay hold upon millions of human lives!

my mother was taught the ch'an concept of happiness, which was to find satisfaction in small things. i was taught to appreciate the fresh air in the morning, the colour of leaves turning red in autumn and the water's smoothness when i soaked my hands in the basin.

The self was a very strange concept to me until I came to America, and my child was born with that entitlement, and that just thrilled me.