It Was What We Japanese Called The

The Heart Dies A Slow Death, Shedding Each Hope Like Leaves Until One Day There Are None. No Hopes. Nothing Remains.

Couldn't The Wrong Sort Of Living Turn Anyone Mean? I Remembered Very Well That One Day Back In Yoroido, A Boy Pushed Me Into A Thorn Bush Near The Pond. By The Time I Clawed My Way Out I Was Mad Enough To Bite Through Wood. If A Few Minutes Of Suffering Could Make Me So Angry, What Would Years Of It Do? Even Stone Can Be Worn Down With Enough Rain.

Some People Have Difficulty Telling The Difference Between Something Great And Something They've Simply Heard Of.

At The Temple There Is A Poem Called "loss" Carved Into The Stone. It Has Three Words, But The Poet Has Scratched Them Out. You Cannot Read Loss, Only Feel It.

We None Of Us Find As Much Kindness In This World As We Should.