If those sorts of moments would be the only pleasure life offered me, I'd be better off shutting out that one brilliant source of light to let my eyes begin to adjust to the darkness.

I worried she might spend an afternoon chatting with me about the sights and then wish me best of luck.

He was like a song I'd heard once in fragments but had been singing in my mind ever since.

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

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.

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.

This is why dreams can be such dangerous things: they smolder on like a fire does, and sometimes they consume us completely.