“...what one ought to capture in beauty is that which is treacherous and irresistible...”

“There is an intense relationship between proximate objects, a much weaker one between objects further away, and as for the really distant ones there is none at all, and that is the nature of God.”

“In the tense silence the continual buzzing of the horseflies was the only audible sound, that and the constant rain beating down in the distance, and, uniting the two, the ever more frequent scritch-scratch of the bent acacia trees outside, and the strange nightshift work of the bugs in the table legs and in various parts of the counter whose irregular pulse measured out the small parcels of time, apportioning the narrow space into which a word, a sentence or a movement might perfectly fit. The entire end-of-October night was beating with a single pulse, its own strange rhythm sounding through trees and rain and mud in a manner beyond words or vision: a vision present in the low light, in the slow passage of darkness, in the blurred shadows, in the working of tired muscles; in the silence, in its human subjects, in the undulating surface of the metaled road; in the hair moving to a different beat than do the dissolving fibers of the body; growth and decay on their divergent paths; all these thousands of echoing rhythms, this confusing clatter of night noises, all parts of an apparently common stream, that is the attempt to forget despair; though behind things other things appear as if by mischief, and once beyond the power of the eye they don't hang together. So with the door left open as if forever, with the lock that will never open. There is a chasm, a crevice.”

“Death, he felt, was only a kind of warning rather than a desperate and permanent end.”

“The light gave him hope but he was afraid of it too.”

“It passes, but it does not pass away.”

“...mert maguk voltak a létezés, miközben a létezésből mégis ki voltak zárva, vagyis oly közel estek a létezéshez, hogy azonossá váltak vele, és a létezés nem látszik soha, így hát ha itt voltak is, amikor nem voltak itt, belőlük soha nem maradt semmi, csak a vágyakozás, hogy jöjjenek, csak a félelem, hogy jönni fognak, csak az emlékük maradt, hogy jártak itt, de a legfájóbb az volt, nézett föl Genji herceg unokája az égre, hogy amelyik egyszer itt volt, az soha többé nem jött vissza.”