Love can never explain the loved one, my dear. It is the essence of wild unreason.
We are all products of our time, vulnerable to history.
And there is not anything in the world stronger than tenderness.
With some people there is such a thing as the habit of betrayal.
The rice bowl is to me the most valid reason in the world for doing anything. A piece of one's soul to the multitudes in return for rice and wine does not seem to me a sacrilege.
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.