Bokelskere.no

We prefer to explore the universe by traveling inward, as opposed to outward.

However, just because something isn’t surprising doesn’t mean it’s easy to deal with.

There is not always a good guy. Nor is there always a bad one. Most people are somewhere in between.

When we don't know where life is taking us, we are never lost.

(...) it is one thing to get used to something, another to get satisfied.

Chiron had said once that nations were the most foolish of mortal inventions. "No man is worth more than another, wherever he is from.

He is a weapon, a killer. Do not forget it. You can use a spear as a walking stick, but that will not change its nature.

And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone.

I want to take her on my bike to the woods. I want to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner for her; listen to music with her before bed; read poetry to her, and while I work during the day she can wander away and do whatever she likes until dusk when we'll walk along the Seine or stroll through the streets.... I want to go to the Louvre with her, and at night visit the park in Villette; I want to take her to see Angelopoulos movies and to listen to Argerich's wild concerts; I want to take pictures of us around the fourth arrondissement as we sweep the dust from the cracks of our everyday lives.

And Tokyo is the cherry blossoms, the sunset at dusk, dawn sunlight through her windows, the cry of the crow, the cityscape of darkened rooms on a rainy evening, the depth of feeling in her eyes....

Later we walked from rue des Écoles to Odéon in the heart of the Latin Quarter. There was a fine drizzle typical of late winter and early spring, not cold just slightly cool, and the streets were filled with students. Dusk in the Latin Quarter was like a fairy tale or a love poem, like a Klimt mosaic, like glowing, rose-colored clouds reaching toward the heavens... a swath of gold ringed in a misty-blue halo, this was the Paris that most entranced me. None of us had brought an umbrella, and the other three women hurried ahead while I nearly burst with glee, singing one song after another deep down in my throat in unintelligible (to them) Chinese. They turned back to make funny faces at me, glowering, scolding, smirking. Their golden, chestnut-brown hair dampened by the rain, glittered in the sunset. They were beautiful, Paris was beautiful, and I and them, I and Paris, my life felt so dear. We were four children under heaven, without nationality or student credentials, far from home, each abandoned by their beloved.

Life has suddenly become overcrowded. Too many people I can care for are swarming in and filling up my chest. Too many things I want to do are rushing headlong into my new life for reasons unknown to me. All of a sudden my new life is like a field overgrown with strange flowers and exotic grasses or the shimmering, starry sky of my unbridled imagination...

When the heart is dead, all is dead, though the victim may not fully realise it for a long time.

Conventions are, indeed, all that shield us from the shivering void, though often they do so but poorly and desperately.