Hopes Are Like Hair Ornaments.

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.

At That Moment, Beauty Itself Struck Me As A Kind Of Painful Melancholy.

I Didn't Say To Act Dead. I Said Act Helpless.

Every Man Has His Destiny. But Who Needs To Go To A Fortune-teller To Find It? Do I Go To A Chef To Find Out If I'm Hungry?

Now I Know That Our World Is No More Permanent Than A Wave Rising On The Ocean. Whatever Our Struggles And Triumphs, However We May Suffer Them, All Too Soon They Bleed Into A Wash, Just Like Watery Ink On Paper.