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

Life just swallows you up, doesn't it?Just swallows you up with its everyday things

I tried to convey to the boy how people's lives are often altered by curved lines read slowly from paper, sand, or stone.

In the end I didn't know who I was crying for, but it was something my body wanted to do, as though trying to digest grief.

I wonder if things can happen too early or too late or if everything happens at exactly the right time. If so, how sad and beautiful.

Every day is a masterpiece, even if it crushes you.

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