You don't have to think about love; you either feel it or you don't.

[...] each of us is born with a box of matches inside us but we can't strike them all by ourselves

Once again she would arrive at a foreign place. Once again be the newcomer, an outsider, the one who did not belong. She knew from experience that she would quickly have to ingratiate herself with her new masters to avoid being rejected or, in more dire cases, punished. Then there would be the phase where she would have to sharpen her senses in order to see and hear as acutely as possible so that she could assimilate quickly all the new customs and the words most frequently used by the group she was to become a part of--so that finally, she would be judged on her own merits.

You don't have to think about love; you either feel it or you don't.

Words travel as swiftly as desire, so it is possible to send a message of love without them.

To know how to produce a work of art is to know how to discard the extraneous.

Then she cried without tears, which is said to hurt even more like dry labor.