Beyond the window, some kind of small, black thing shot across the sky. A bird, possibly. Or it might have been someone's soul being blown to the far side of the world.

You don't have to judge the whole world by your own standards. Not everybody is like you, you know.

It's because of you when I'm in bed in the morning that I can wind my spring and tell myself I have to live another good day.

Sometimes when I'm with you, I remember things I lost when I was your age. Like I remember the sound of the rain and the smell of the wind.

Somewhere in his body--perhaps in the marrow of his bones--he would continue to feel her absence.

I have read all my novels that were translated into English. Reading my novels is enjoyable because I forget almost all the content in them.

Being active every day makes it easier to hear that inner voice.