If you remembered somebody was as real as yourself, how could you kill anybody?

That's the way it is in life. You let go of what is beautiful and unique. You pursue something new and don't even know that the wind of your own running is a thief.

I'm sorry to burden you,' she said. She felt like a crybaby. 'What can we do with our stories,' he said, 'but tell them?

Pardon me, dear human self, capable of the most heinous degradation, capable of soaring.

She seemed imprisoned in her sadness.

But I marry myself. I take my fate as within.

Is it not the case that many a life journey starts out in the opposite direction to its destiny?