And there is not anything in the world stronger than tenderness.
Love can never explain the loved one, my dear. It is the essence of wild unreason.
Strange are the ways of history, where no single thing abides, but all things flow into each other, fragment to fragment clinging.
Sadness is so ungrateful.
All humans are frightened of their own solitude. But only in solitude can we learn to know ourselves, learn to handle our own eternal aloneness.
Goldfish are flowers ... flowers that move.