In the uncertain ebb and flow of time and emotions, much of one’s life history is etched in the senses. And things of no particular importance, or irreplaceable things, can suddenly resurface in a café one winter night.

This world of ours is piled high with farewells and goodbyes of so many different kinds, like the evening sky renewing itself again and again from one instant to the next-and I didn’t want to forget a single one.

If you don’t say what you’re thinking, you end up lying when you really need to speak up.

Again and again I will suffer; again and again I will get back on my feet. I will not be defeated.

This is what it means to be loved... when someone wants to touch you, to be tender.

When things get really bad, you take comfort in the placeness of a place.

Once you've recognized your own limits, you've raised yourself to a higher level of being, since you're closer to the real you.