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.

A cliche is like a coin that has been handled too much. Once language has been overly handled, it no longer leaves a clear imprint.

How easy I was. Like a limpet I attached myself to anything, anyone who showed me the least attention.

How many people ask you to come share their life?

Depression, suffering and anger are all part of being human.

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed in her white kimono, writing in a notebook with an ink pen she dipped in a bottle. 'Never let a man stay the night,' she told me. 'Dawn has a way of casting a pall on any night magic.' The night magic sounded lovely. Someday I would have lovers and write a poem after.

Take my advice. Stay away from all broken people.