Thought itself needs words. It runs on them like a long wire. And if it loses the habit of words, little by little it becomes shapeless, somber.
Memories are like stones, time and distance erode them like acid.
Justice! Custodian of the world! But since the world errs, justice must be custodian of the world's errors.
It so difficult to know what the people we love really need.
There is always a certain peace in being what one is, in being that completely.
This free will business is a bit terrifying anyway. It's almost pleasanter to obey, and make the most of it.