That is why I write - to try to turn sadness into longing, solitude into remembrance.

What makes life interesting are the challenges we face.

Nothing wrong with appearing to be a fool, if what you are doing is intelligent.

Because of that she had never had enough energy to be herself, a person who, like everyone else in the world, needed other people in order to be happy. But other people were so difficult. They reacted in unpredictable ways, they surrounded themselves with defensive walls, they behaved just as she did, pretending they didn't care about anything. When someone more open to life appeared, they either rejected them outright or made them suffer, consigning them to being inferior, ingenuous.

Because time isn't something that always proceeds at the same pace. It is we who determine how quickly time passes.

Perhaps they needn't even believe - it was enough that they needed angels, and the angels would return gladly.

He knew one of the women well, and had shared his universe with her. They had seen the same mountains, and the same trees, although each of them had seem them differently. She knew his weaknesses, his moments of hatred, of despair. Yet she was there at his side. They shared the same universe.