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Kindle Notes & Highlights
His speech carried the smell of the sea, and there was salt on his every breath.
People believed that dying while gazing at the sea was the grace of Kabang. Their lifelong dream was to arrive at the moment of death with an image of the ocean in the ocean of the mind.
They thought that life was a kind of resonance between story and song, and that was good enough for them.
If we really tried learning birdsong the way we learn French or Russian, taking, say, two classes a day and keeping it up, would we eventually be able to talk with the birds?
Perhaps because I don’t think he can completely understand me, I often feel like talking to him. It’s like talking through an open window.
Maybe you don’t believe me but a woman’s body can sense the emotion in someone’s touch. Even when you just lay a hand on someone or someone lays a hand on you, you sometimes get a sense of what the other person has on his mind, though you’re not real clear what it is. It’s kind of elusive, whatever it is that’s communicated through the skin.
