The Purpose Of A Writer Is To

To Grow Old Is To Pass From Passion To Compassion.

But Too Many People Now Climb Onto The Cross Merely To Be Seen From A Greater Distance, Even If They Have To Trample Somewhat On The One Who Has Been There So Long.

Autumn Is A Second Spring When Every Leaf Is A Flower.

One Grows Out Of Pity When It's Useless.

To Live Is To Hurt Others, And Through Others, To Hurt Oneself. Cruel Earth! How Can We Manage Not To Touch Anything? To Find What Ultimate Exile?