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.
We don't become geisha because we want our lives to be happy; we become geisha because we have no choice.
Never give up; for even rivers someday wash dams away.
At that moment, beauty itself struck me as a kind of painful melancholy.
No one knows the author of memoir so well like himself.
Grief is a most peculiar thing; we’re so helpless in the face of it. It’s like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it.