Does it not move you strangely, the love-bird's cry, tonight when, like the drifting snow, memory piles up on… — Murasaki Shikibu

Think not that I have come in quest of common flowers; but rather to bemoan the loss of one whose scent has vanished from the air.

You that in far-off countries of the sky can dwell secure, look back upon me here; for I am weary of this frail world's decay.

One ought not to be unkind to a woman merely on account of her plainness, any more than one had a right to take liberties with her merely because she was handsome.