With love that knew no fear, the Singer caught his torment, wrapped it all in song and gave it back to him as peace.
Mereka bagaikan mata-mata pena yang menari di atas lemabaran kertas yang sama, lembaran kertas hitam. Dan hanya keberuntungan yang bisa membuat kertas itu menjadi abu-abu, karena tidak mungkin membuatnya menjadi putih bersih. Jejak hitam itu tetap ada di jalan hidup mereka. Bagi anak-anak seperti mereka, hidup benar-benar seperti mata dadu di meja judi.
It is the man of science, eager to have his every opinion regenerated, his every idea rationalized, by drinking at the fountain of fact, and devoting all the energies of his life to the cult of truth, not as he understands it, but as he does not yet understand it, that ought properly to be called a philosopher.
I had the feeling she was going to say something big. One of us had to say it. What happened to us? Where are we going? It was like this silence between us was frozen and we were both feeling our way around it. How is it that two people can need each other so absolutely and then, in moments, not even know how to be next to each other and just be quiet?