When small drops began to fall and darken the world in penny-shaped circles, no one around him scurried for cover. For lonely people, rain is a chance to be touched.

The present grows within the boundaries of the past.

I think we keep these moments of rejection and acceptance very close. I think we carry them always, like cracked shells from which a part of us once hatched.

Music is only a mystery to people who want it explained. Music and love are the same.

Language is like looking at a map of somewhere. Love is living there and surviving on the land.

You were unsure which pain is worse -- the shock of what happened or the ache for what never will.

When somebody leaves this plane—or, if you like, goes into another room—those left behind sometimes try and stop loving—but this is a mistake, because even if you have loved only once in your life, you’re ruined.