Was life nothing more than a storm that constantly washed away what had been there only a moment before, and left behind something barren and unrecognizable?

We lead our lives like water flowing down a hill, going more or less in one direction until we splash into something that forces us to find a new course.

At that moment, beauty itself struck me as a kind of painful melancholy.

Some people have difficulty telling the difference between something great and something they've simply heard of.

We human beings have a remarkable way of growing accustomed to things.

Seeing him again after so long awakened something inside me. I was surprised to find myself feeling sad rather than joyful, as I would have imagined.

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?