The Essential Han River

Back then, she had words, so her feelings would have been clearer and stronger.
But now there is no word in her body.
Words and sentences follow her like spirits, just close enough to be seen and heard, away from her body.
Because of that distance, feelings that are not strong enough quickly fall away like pieces of weak tape. She just looks. Looking, she doesn't translate anything she looks at into words.
Images of other things continue to form in her eyes, and they move and disappear as she walks. As they disappear, they are never translated into words.
_I can't understand 'Greek Hour', page 75.
When you died, I felt like everything was taken away from me.
Just because you died,
I feel like every memory I have is bleeding, rapidly becoming stained, rusting, and crumbling.
_『Greek Hours』, p. 130

When we return the weakest, most fragile, and most lonely thing we have, our lives, to the material world, no price will be paid to us.
When that moment comes to me someday, I don't think I will ever be able to remember all the experiences I've had as being beautiful.
It is in such a shabby context that I believe I understand Plato.
He also knew that there was nothing beautiful.
The fact that nothing is perfect forever. At least not in this world.
_『Greek Hours』, p. 135

Before that year passed, you asked her late at night in her room. I really don't know, how people can live only in conventions, how they can endure such a life. Her face, which was turning its back on you and removing its makeup, darkened slightly in the mirror. She answered, looking into your eyes through the mirror. Thinking so, aren't there people who think it's fortunate that they can do that, that they can hide behind conventions?
_「Recovering Human」, p. 230

I remember you saying, “The trees resemble you.” You added, “Everything you draw is actually a self-portrait of yourself.” I spent the afternoon looking through your bookshelf at the pictures of trees. When I came across Schiele’s young, fragile trees, I understood what you meant. It occurred to me that if all pictures are self-portraits, then the pictures of trees must be the most serene self-portraits that a human being can draw.
_「Blue Stone」, pp. 248-249

At some point, the moment comes when the child suddenly understands everything about his father. That is the child's destiny. Without wondering if life really has to be that hard. Without complaints or pity. Without words or logic. Without tears welling up. In just one moment.
_「Father is sitting at the desk now」, page 308

But now, thirty years later, on the last page of this book, I came to a realization, as if my palm had been burned by flames, with a start. The meaning of the questions I had asked myself when I was twelve, leaning against the wall of a darkening room, holding this book, not even knowing clearly what was burning my eyes and throat. The fact that those questions were still vividly alive and shaking inside me. How do they love so much? Why is the world around them so beautiful and violent at the same time?
To that twelve-year-old me, I think I can now stammer. It is precisely because we love that we despair. It is because we believe in dignity that we feel pain. So, our pain is the key and the solid seed.
_「To the Boys of Summer」, pp. 334-335