Many events seem to happen twice to me; even trifles, unimportant-seeming, recur, as if I were destined to live them again, time reconquered, but with added knowledge and a different outcome.

Sadness is so ungrateful.

This is Malaya. Everything takes a long, a very long time, in Malaya. Things get done, occasionally, but more often they don't, and the more in a hurry you are, the quicker you break down.

Truth, like surgery, may hurt, but it cures.

Goldfish are flowers ... flowers that move.

Love from one being to another can only be that two solitudes come nearer, recognize and protect and comfort each other.

I really can't hate more than 5 or 10 years. Wouldn't it be terrible to be always burdened with those primary emotions you had at one time?