I think... if it is true that
there are as many minds as there
are heads, then there are as many
kinds of love as there are hearts.

He felt now that he was not simply close to her, but that he did not know where he ended and she began.

If it is true that there are as many minds as there are heads, then there are as many kinds of love as there are hearts.

Rummaging in our souls, we often dig up something that ought to have lain there unnoticed.

All the diversity, all the charm, and all the beauty of life are made up of light and shade.

Doctoring her seemed to her as absurd as putting together the pieces of a broken vase. Her heart was broken. Why would they try to cure her with pills and powders?