Broken I, had I known I was never again to see her,
Or devastated if nothing in me can she remember?
Indeed, what for should she recall or I splinter,
To her I am the brief image - And she may be lost,
One is the angel and the other from the most
Devilish place of all, who distinguish? We are all ghosts,
And so Let this blur of beauty remain,
Though never shall I meet her again,
Nor my youth, my virtue - and those I once took pain
To dear and cherish. They are all ghosts, we are all ghosts,
For we do die every night from someone's memory in the bitter frost,
The same place where we damn all things once we loved the most,
Sayfa 13 - Liu Yi PublishingKitabı okudu
'Perhaps she'll find it too. Out there, on the South China Sea, who knows? Perhaps she'll meet a traveller, in a port, in a hotel, who knows? She's become a romantic, you see? I had to let her go.'
I wish we'd met under different circumstances and with different names.
I wish I could wake up to your face every day.
If there's a next life, let's meet there, okay?
"We'll meet again somewhere," I said.
"Let's, somewhere," said one.
"Yes, somewhere," said the other.
The words echoed in my mind a moment.
Sayfa 178 - Kodansha International, Translated by Alfred Birnbaum
Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them. They move on. They move away. The moments that used to define them—a mother's approval, a father's nod—are covered by moments of their own accomplishments. It is not until later, as the skin sags and the heart weakens, that children understand; their stories, and all their accomplishments, sit atop the stories of their mothers and fathers, stones upon stones, beneath the waters of their lives.
Sayfa 133
Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them. They move on. They move away. The moments that used to define them—a mother's approval, a father's nod—are covered by moments of their own accomplishments. It is not until much later, as the skin sags and the heart weakens, that children understand; their stories, and all their accomplishments, sit atop the stories of their mothers and fathers, stones upon stones, beneath the waters of their lives.