“She was still there inside me now, just as she always was: a life put on hold, a memory I didn’t know how to handle.”

Nothing exists in this world but me and my bed…” (p. 141).

But I have my life, I’m living it. It’s twisted, exhausting, uncertain, and full of guilt, but nonetheless, there’s something there.

This is what it means to be loved… when someone wants to touch you, to be tender.

Good tea is eloquent enough, it turns out, to change a person’s mind.

Here in this ocean, in the midst of all this water, with the red flags on those distant buoys flapping in the sea breeze, I find myself unable to treat our house in Tokyo as anything but a dream.

Inching one’s way along a steep cliff in the dark: on reaching the highway, one breathes a sigh of relief. Just when one can’t take any more, one sees the moonlight. Beauty that seems to infuse itself into the heart: I know about that

Over and over, we begin again.

Truly happy memories always live on, shining. Over time, one by one, they come back to life.

Again and again I will suffer; again and again I will get back on my feet. I will not be defeated.

The night glittered brilliantly then.

I realized that the world did not exist for my benefit. It followed that the ratio of pleasant and unpleasant things around me would not change. It wasn’t up to me. It was clear that the best thing to do was to adopt a sort of muddled cheerfulness.

Recognizing how totally ignorant you are is the only honest way to deal with people who’ve been through something traumatic.

I should have told her at the time. I could have taken a deep breath, looked away, and forced myself to say it.

The sky was incredibly far away, and beautiful enough to make a person wonder why our hearts are never so free.

People aren’t overcome by situations or outside forces. Defeat comes from within.

Someday, without fail, everyone will disappear, scattered into the blackness of time.

Lincoln could be on the moon. He’s still Lincoln.

Mostly, nothing’s really changed. I’m still the dorky nerd that I always was.

I decided to stop drinking while it was still my idea.

It’s amazing how much of that music I still listen to actually. I was such a fan of music, even after I got started professionally

I would have loved to have been a painter or a sculptor. I’m still fascinated by those things.

When the mind is controlled and still what remains is the soul

The artist always has been and still is a being somewhat apart from the rest of humanity.

Nor for my peace will I go far, As wanderers do, that still do roam, But make my strengths, such as they are, Here in my bosom, and at home.