Who can judge another man's suffering?

I closed my eyes to watch tiny dancers like jeweled birds cross the dark screen of my eyelids.

Beauty was empty as a gourd, vain as a parakeet. But it had power. It smelled of musk and oranges and made you close your eyes in a prayer.

Once you get below the floor of our personal identities, we're all connected. Perhaps that's why we can move into others' lives.

At every moment, each instrument knew what to play. Its little bit. But none could see the whole thing like this, all at once, only its own part. Just like life. Each person was like a line of music, but nobody knew what the symphony sounded like. Only the conductor had the whole score.

purification in fire. public cremation

A novel is like a dream in which everyone is you. They’re all parts of yourself.