To know one’s own state is not a simple matter. One cannot look directly at one’s own face with one’s own eyes, for example. One has no choice but to look at one’s reflection in the mirror. Through experience, we come to believe that the image is correct, but that is all.

Nothing in the real world is as beautiful as the illusions of a person about to lose consciousness.

With each passing moment I'm becoming part of the past. There is no future for me, just the past steadily accumulating.

The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts.

Chance encounters are what keep us going.

Having an object that symbolizes freedom might make a person happier than actually getting the freedom it represents.

They put up with such strenuous training, and where did their thoughts, their hopes and dreams, disappear to? When people pass away, do their thoughts just vanish?