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?

We all know that a winter scene, though it may be covered over one day, with even the trees dressed in shawls of snow, will be unrecognizable the following spring. Yet I never imagined such a thing could occur within our very selves.

Sometimes," he sighed, "I think the things I remember are more real than the things I see.

Passion can quickly slip to jealousy, or even hatred.

The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves until one day there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains.

When a man takes a mistress, he doesn't turn around and divorce his wife.

Couldn't the wrong sort of living turn anyone mean? I remembered very well that one day back in Yoroido, a boy pushed me into a thorn bush near the pond. By the time I clawed my way out I was mad enough to bite through wood. If a few minutes of suffering could make me so angry, what would years of it do? Even stone can be worn down with enough rain.