...most people in the world don't really use their brains to think. And people who don't think are the ones who don't listen to others.

I couldn't begin to grasp what he might be thinking or feeling in the murky depths of his consciousness.

Liest man, was alle anderen auch lesen, kann man auch nur das denken, was alle anderen denken.

Each "way of thinking" has its own shape and color, which wax and wane like the moon.

No matter where i go, i still end up me. What's missing never changes. The scenery may change, but i'm still the same incomplete person. The same missing elements torture me with a hunger that i can never satisfy. I think that lack itself is as close as i'll come to defining myself.

sometimes I think I've got this hard kernel in my heart, and nothing much can get inside it. I doubt if I can really love anybody.

Which is why I am writing this book. To think. To understand. It just happens to be the way I'm made. I have to write things down to feel I fully comprehend them.

She waited for the train to pass. Then she said, "I sometimes think that people’s hearts are like deep wells. Nobody knows what’s at the bottom. All you can do is imagine by what comes floating to the surface every once in a while.

Life is a lot more fragile than we think. So you should treat others in a way that leaves no regrets. Fairly, and if possible, sincerely.