Now, even more than the evening before, he could think of no one with whom to compare her. She had become absolute, beyond comparison. She had become decision and fate.

The true joy of a moonlit night is something we no longer understand. Only the men of old, when there were no lights, could understand the true joy of a moonlit night.

The snow on the distant mountains was soft and creamy, as if veiled in a faint smoke.

But, drawn to her at that moment, he felt a quiet like the voice of the rain flow over him. He knew well enough that for her it was in fact no waste of effort, but somehow the final determination that it was had the effect of distilling and purifying the woman's existence.

Put your soul in the palm of my hand for me to look at, like a crystal jewel. I'll sketch it in words.

Because you cannot see him, God is everywhere.

I suppose even a woman's hatred is a kind of love.