“A man who has committed a mistake and doesn’t correct it, is committing another mistake.”

Still I would want to be someone who’d answer to me:
Someone who sees like a child, gives like a saint,
feels like an angel — never mind the broken wings,
and speaks like a picture, cries like the rain, shines like a star,
as long as the fire remains.

the ordering of objects couldn’t hide what’s missing.
... love is not these belongings that surround you,
though there’s meaning in the memories they hold.