People have separated from each other with walls of concrete that blocked the roads to connection and love. and Nature has been defeated in the name of development.

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Does pain go away and leave no trace, then?’ ‘You sometimes even feel sentimental for it.

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Lunatics have no age. If we were crazy, you and I, we might be a great deal younger.

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And I can't complain. After all, only women are able really to love.

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I wonder what the retirement age is in the novel business. The day you die.

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It's remarkable how we go on year after year, doing the same old things. We get tired and bored, and ask when they'll come for us

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A poetess who had died young of cancer had said in one of her poems that for her, on sleepless nights, 'the night offers toads and black dogs and corpses of the drowned.

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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.

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Seeing the moon, he becomes the moon, the moon seen by him becomes him. He sinks into nature, becomes one with nature. The light of the "clear heart" of the priest, seated in the meditation hall in the darkness before the dawn, becomes for the dawn moon its own light.

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They were words that came out of nothing, but they seemed to him somehow significant. He muttered them over again.

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