When we fight upstream against a rocky undercurrent, every foothold takes on a kind of urgency.

I went back to those graves not long afterward and found as I stood there that sadness was a very heavy thing. My body weighed twice what it had only a moment earlier, as if those graves were pulling me down toward them.

How many times already had I encountered the painful lesson that although we may wish for the barb to be pulled from our flesh, it leaves a welt that doesn't heal?

The prettiest of them all is a girl who is pretty on the inside.

No one knows the author of memoir so well like himself.

A mouse who wishes to fool the cat doesn't simply scamper out of its hole whenever it feels the slightest urge.

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.