The way love feels is always only approximate. I would like to be without shame. I would like to be shameless. I would like to be ignorant. Then I would not know how ignorant I was.

She had no images of this love. She could offer no anecdotes. It was a belief rather than a memory.

I hope that people will finally come to realize that there is only one 'race' - the human race - and that we are all members of it.

Once upon a time, novelists of the 19th century, such as Charles Dickens, published in serial form.

Stupidity is the same as evil if you judge by the results.

But maybe, underneath, she loves him too much. Maybe it's her excessive love that pushes him away.

And yes, I know it's you; and that is what we will come to, sooner or later, when it's even darker than it is now, when the snow is colder, when it's darkest and coldest and candles are no longer any use to us and the visibility is zero: yes. It's still you. It's still you.