Leave undone whatever you hesitate to do.

Blossoms are scattered by the wind and the wind cares nothing, but the blossoms of the heart no wind can touch.

Love. Its roots are deep. Its source unknowable.

The truth is at the beginning of anything and its end are alike touching.

To sit alone in the lamplight with a book spread out before you, and hold intimate converse with men of unseen generations - such is a pleasure beyond compare.

A certain recluse, I know not who, once said that no bonds attached him to this life, and the only thing he would regret leaving was the sky.

I recall the months and years I spent as the intimate of someone whose affections have now faded like cherry blossoms scattering even before a wind blew.