All at once I felt so vain, like a girl posturing for the crowds as she walks along, only to discover the street is empty.

At the temple there is a poem called "Loss" carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it.

A wounded tiger is a dangerous beast.

Well, a peach has a lovely taste and so does a mushroom, but you can't put the two together.

And when I raised myself to look at the man who'd spoken, I had a feeling of leaving my misery behind me there on the stone wall.

Every man has his destiny. But who needs to go to a fortune-teller to find it? Do I go to a chef to find out if I'm hungry?

I was thanking him for...well, for something I'm not sure I can explain even now. For showing me that something besides cruelty could be found in the world, I suppose.