—¿Cómo te atreves a hablar de psicoanálisis, si nunca has hecho el amor? —¡qué silencio! Los demás cesaron en sus disputas de inmediato—. ¡Toma! —exclamó el poeta—. ¡Coge estos doscientos francos, súbete a un taxi, ve a la calle Saint-Denis y, cuando te hayas tirado una puta, vuelve y me habla de Freud y Lacan!

a name with a gently exotic ring to it, like birdsong, like a grain of sand in the far-off Gobi Desert or the northern steppes, whipped up by the wind, carried by storms, swirling through the sky, travelling, crossing whole countries without knowing quite how, and ending up in the crook of my ear.

When she laughed I noticed an untamed quality about her eyes, which reminded me of the wild girls on our side of the mountain. Her eyes had the gleam of uncut gems, of unpolished metal, which was heightened by the long lashes and the delicate slant of the lids.

She said she had learnt one thing from Balzac: that a woman's beauty is a treasure beyond price.

At various points in our lives, or on a quest, for reasons that often remain obscure , we are driven to make decisions which prove with hindsight to be loaded with meaning.

Calligraphy may well be simply an artistic version of another form, that is the ideograms which make up the poem, but then not only does it reflect the character and temperament of the artist but . . . also betrays his heart rate, his breathing.

Our imagination is dictated by who we are. (198)

In Chinese love stories the one who loves always starts by borrowing a book from the beloved.