It happens so seldom that we meet someone really special,
that when such a person does happen along, it's a feeling of
being a child again and experiencing the butterflies, the
nervousness, and the blushing insecurity of caring
and hoping to be cared for in return.
If our friendship depends on things like space and time,
then when we finally overcome space and time we've
destroyed our own brotherhood.
But overcome space, and all we have left his here.
Overcome time, and all we have left is now.
And in the middle of here and now, don't you think that
we might see each other once or twice?
The price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow it brings.
What do you do when the only person who can help you stop crying is the one who made you cry?
What could be more stupid than to persist in carrying a burden that we constantly want to cast off, to hold our existence in horror, yet cling to it nonetheless, to fondle the serpent that devours us, until it has eaten our heart?