The Heart is a Lonely Hunter.
In his face there came to be a brooding peace that is seen most often in the faces of the very sorrowful or the very wise. But still he wandered through the streets of the town, always silent and alone.
She was afraid of these things that made her suddenly wonder who she was, and what she was going to be in the world, and why she was standing at that minute, seeing a light, or listening, or staring up into the sky: alone.
There is so much truth in children and so little self-consciousness. It always strikes me that they are so capable of losing and finding themselves and also losing and finding those things they feel close to.
Jesus would be framed and in jail if he was living today.
I do not have any home. So why should I be homesick?
Sometimes this fellow's music was like little colored pieces of crystal candy, and other times it was the softest, saddest thing she had ever imagined about.
People felt themselves watching him even before they knew that there was anything different about him. His eyes made a person think that he heard things that no one else had ever heard, that he knew things no one had ever guessed before. He did not seem quite human.
There are all these people here I don't know by sight or by name. And we pass alongside each other and don't have any connection. And they don't know me and I don't know them. And now I'm leaving town and there are all these people I will never know.
That was the best of all. To speak the truth and be attended.
Sunday afternoons are the longest afternoons of all.
But all the time-no matter what she was doing-there was music.
Passion is more important than justice.
There was hope in him, and soon perhaps the outline of his journey would take form.
While Time, The endless idiot, runs screaming round the world.
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