Memoirs of a Geisha

by Arthur Golden

This is why dreams can be such dangerous things: they smolder on like a fire does, and sometimes consume us completely.

Grief is a most peculiar thing; we’re so helpless in the face of it. It’s like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it.

Hopes are like hair ornaments. Girls want to wear too many of them. When they become old women they look silly wearing even one.”

Adversity is like a strong wind. I don’t mean just that it holds us back from places we might otherwise go. It also tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that afterward we see ourselves as we really are, and not merely as we might like to be.

I don’t think any of us can speak frankly about pain until we are no longer enduring it.