The most significant conversations of our lives occur in silence.

Every moment is the paradox of now or never.

When Bach died some of his children sold his scores to the butcher they had decided the paper was more useful for wrapping meat. In a small village in Germany a father brought home a limp goose wrapped in paper that was covered with strange and beautiful symbols.

There are some lies that, under the right circumstances, are the only truth

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.

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.

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.