Perhaps it seems odd that a casual meeting on the street could have brought about such change. But sometimes life is like that isn't it
We none of us find as much kindness in this world as we should.
A woman who acts like a fool is a fool.
We don't become geisha because we want our lives to be happy; we become geisha because we have no choice.
Passion can quickly slip to jealousy, or even hatred.
As an American man of the 1990s writing about a Japanese woman of the 1930s, I needed to cross three cultural divides - man to woman, American to Japanese, and present to past.
When a man takes a mistress, he doesn't turn around and divorce his wife.
If a few minutes of suffering could make me so angry, what would years of it do? Even a stone can be worn down with enough rain.
Geisha is always called beautiful even if she is not.
A wounded tiger is a dangerous beast.
Finally the homeless eel marked its territory, I suppose, and the Doctor lay heavily upon me, moist with sweat.
I worried she might spend an afternoon chatting with me about the sights and then wish me best of luck.
Here's the thing: this eel spends its entire life trying to find a home, and what do you think women have inside them? Caves, where the eels like to live...when they find a cave they like, the wriggle around inside it for a while to be sure that...well, to be sure it's a nice cave, I suppose. And when they've made up their minds that it's comfortable, they mark the cave as their territory...by spitting.
Waiting patiently doesn't suit you. I can see you have a great deal of water in your personality. Water never waits. It changes shape and flows around things, and finds the secret paths no one else has thought about. [Mameha]
It was what we Japanese called the onion life, peeling away a layer at a time and crying all the while.
Of course, a sign doesn't mean anything unless you know how to interpret it.
Water is powerful. It can wash away earth, put out fire, and even destroy iron.
Here again, I saw life in all its noisy excitement passing me by.
I fell into a sound sleep and dreamed that I was at a banquet back in Gion, talking with an elderly man who was explaining to me that his wife, whom he'd cared for deeply, wasn't really dead because the pleasure of their time together lived on inside him.
For a flicker of a moment I imagined a world completely different from the one I'd always known, a world in which I was treated with fairness, even kindness-- a world in which fathers didn't sell their daughters.
How many times already had I encountered the painful lesson that although we may wish for the barb to be pulled from our flesh, it leaves a welt that doesn't heal?
If those sorts of moments would be the only pleasure life offered me, I'd be better off shutting out that one brilliant source of light to let my eyes begin to adjust to the darkness.
I went back to those graves not long afterward and found as I stood there that sadness was a very heavy thing. My body weighed twice what it had only a moment earlier, as if those graves were pulling me down toward them.
And then I became aware of all the magnificent silk wrapped around my body, and had the feeling I might drown in beauty. At that moment, beauty itself struck me as a kind of painful melancholy.
Yet somehow the thing that startled me most, after a week or two had passed, was that I had in fact survived.
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