The passions we cannot control are the ones that define us.

Hands have their own language.

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

I suppose the key to a good life is to gently overlook the truth and hope that at any moment we can all be reborn.

I don’t see the point of truth anymore, it causes just as much heartbreak as lying.

Language is like drinking from one's own reflection in still water. We only take from it what we are at the time.

Love requires imagination more than experience.