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You know, they've got these chocolate assortments, and you like some but you don't like others? And you eat all the ones you like, and the only ones left are the ones you don't like as much? I always think about that when something painful comes up. Now I just have to polish these off, and everything'll be OK. Life is a box of chocolates. I suppose you could call it a philosophy.
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Whenever she felt like crying, she would instead become angry—at someone else or at herself—which meant that it was rare for her to shed tears.
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A story is not something of this world. A real story requires a kind of magical baptism to link the world on this side with the world on the other side.
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In traveling, a companion, in life, compassion.
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All of us are imperfect human beings living in an imperfect world.
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You said that the mind is like the wind but perhaps it is we who are like the wind Knowing nothing, simply blowing through. Never aging, never dying.
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What I want is for the two of us to meet somewhere by chance one day, like, passing on the street, or getting on the same bus.
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What I was chasing in circles must have been the tail of the darkness inside me.
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If you think God’s there, He is. If you don’t, He isn’t. And if that’s what God’s like, I wouldn’t worry about it.
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No matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories.
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Learning another language is like becoming another person.
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A person’s destiny is something you look back at afterwards, not something to be known in advance.
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Don't pointless things have a place, too, in this far-from-perfect world? Remove everything pointless from an imperfect life, and it'd lose even its imperfection.
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You always look so cool, like no matter what happens, it’s got nothing to do with you, but you’re not really like that. In your own way, you’re out there fighting as hard as you can, even if other people can’t tell by looking at you.
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"I believe you," she whispers after a moment. "Please find my mind."
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I was dying. Like all the other people who live in this world.
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I'm not so weird to me.
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So the fact that I’m me and no one else is one of my greatest assets. Emotional hurt is the price a person has to pay in order to be independent.
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I never made any plan before writing, however I succeeded. I enjoyed writing with excitement ,"what happen on the next page?"
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Spending plenty of time on something can be the most sophisticated form of revenge.
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I try not to think about anything special while running. As a matter of fact, I usually run with my mind empty. However, when I run empty-minded, something naturally and abruptly crawls in sometime. That might become an idea that can help me with my writing.
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Her smile steps offstage for a moment, then does an encore, all while I'm dealing with my blushing face.
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I'm not sure if I could tell the difference—between just staring into space and thinking. We're usually thinking all the time, aren't we? Not that we live in order to think, but the opposite isn't true either—that we think in order to live. I believe, contrary to Descartes, that we sometimes think in order not to be. Staring into space might unintentionally have the opposite effect.
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Like flowers scattered in a storm, a man's life is a long farewell.