Almond Won Pyung Sohn Quotes

Even though my brain was a mess, what kept my soul whole was the warmth of the hands holding mine on both sides

From what I understood, love was an extreme idea. A word that seemed to force something undefinable into the prison of letters. But the word was used so easily, so often. People spoke of love so casually, just to mean the slightest pleasure or thanks.

Books took me to places I could never go otherwise. They shared the confessions of people I'd never met and lives I'd never witnessed. The emotions I could never feel, and the events I hadn't experienced could all be found in those volumes.

Lastly, and I know it sounds like an excuse, but neither you nor I nor anyone can ever really know whether a story is happy or tragic.

What does love mean?” Mom asked mischievously. “To discover beauty.

To borrow Granny’s description, a bookstore is a place densely populated with tens of thousands of authors, dead or living, residing side by side. But books are quiet. They remain dead silent until somebody flips open a page. Only then do they spill out their stories, calmly and thoroughly, just enough at a time for me to handle.

Maybe understanding a language is like understanding the expressions and emotions of other people.

I've decided to confront it. Confront whatever life throws at me, as I always have. However much I can feel, nothing more, nothing less.

There is no such person who can’t be saved. There are only people who give up on trying to save others. It’s

People shut their eyes to a distant tragedy saying there’s nothing they could do, yet they didn’t stand up for one happening nearby either because they’re too terrified. Most people could feel but didn’t act. They said they sympathized, but easily forgot. The way I see it, that was not real. I didn’t want to live like that.

But books were different. They had lots of blanks. Blanks between words and even between lines. I could squeeze myself in there and sit, or walk, or scribble down my thoughts. It didn’t matter if I had no idea what the words meant. Turning the pages was half the battle.

Once you repeat the same word over and over, there comes a time when its meaning fades.

People said there was no way to understand Gon. I didn’t agree with them. It’s just that nobody ever tried to see through him.

To be more specific, I felt connected to the smell of old books. The first time I smelled them, it was as if I’d encountered something I already knew.

wanted to read between the lines. I wanted to be someone who truly understood the meaning of an author’s words. I wanted to know more people, to be able to engage in deep conversations, and to learn what it was to be human.

...a bookstore is a place densely populated with tens of thousands of authors, dead or living, residing side by side.

Silence was definitely golden.

Love is what makes a person human, as well as what makes a monster.

We have to be tougher in this tough world.

To be honest, I couldn’t have cared less. Whether I was normal or not made little to no difference. To me, it was as subtle as the differences in the nuance of the words.

Parents start out with grand expectations for their kids. But when things don't go as expected, they just want their kids to be ordinary, thinking it's simple. But son, being ordinary is the hardest thing to achieve,

I had discovered that if I kept quiet when I was expected to get angry, it made me look patient. If I kept silent when I was supposed to laugh, it made me look more serious. And if I kept silent when I was expected to cry, it made me look strong.

You eventually just move on with your life. I'm sure others would go back to their normal lives too, eating and sleeping and all, although it may take them longer than me. Humans are designed to move on and keep on living after all.

Ordinary . . .” I mumbled. To be like others. To be ordinary without having experienced terrible ordeals. To go to school, graduate, and if lucky, go to college and get an okay job and meet a woman I like and get married and have kids . . . things like that. Put differently, to not stand out.

So, I’m going to be stronger. In my own way. In the way that feels most natural to me. I like to win. If I can’t protect myself from being hurt, I’d rather hurt other people.

Anyway, this sounds cliche but you'll eventually meet the people who you're meant to meet, no matter what happens. Time will tell if your relationship with him is meant to be.

It seemed to mean that there was more than one answer to everything. Maybe I didn’t need to stick to hard-and-fast rules of dialogue or behavior. Since everyone was different, my “odd reactions” could be normal to some people.

Mom said everything was for my sake, calling it love. But to me, it seemed more like we were doing this out of her own desperation not to have a child that was different. Love, according to Mom’s actions, was nothing more than nagging about every little thing, with teary eyes, about how one should act such and such in this and that situation. If that was love, I’d rather neither give nor receive any. But of course, I didn’t say that out loud. That was all thanks to one of Mom’s codes of conduct—Too much honesty hurts others—which I had memorized over and over so that it was stuck in my brain.

Dora found beauty in everything. She found nature’s magnificent work and incredible symmetry in a turtle’s carapace, or a stork’s egg, or an autumn reed from a swamp. How wonderful, she would often say. I understood the meaning of the word, but I could never feel the splendor it carried.

a bookstore is a place densely populated with tens of thousands of authors, dead or living, residing side by side. But books are quiet. They remain dead silent until somebody flips open a page. Only then so they spill out their stories, calmly and thoroughly, just enough at a time for me to handle.

To me, that’s like being asked, Why do you live? Do you live for any purpose? Let’s be honest, we just live because we’re alive.

Does growing mean changing?" "Probably. For better or for worse," he replied.

Whenever life pulled brutal pranks on him, Gon would think that life was like having your mom hold your hands one moment, warm and safe, then suddenly drop them with no explanation. No matter how hard he tried to grab hold, he was always abandoned in the end.

Books and the aroma of coffee. They were the perfect combination

was just unlucky. Luck plays a huge part in all the unfairness of the world. Even more than you’d expect.

Granny, why do people call me weird?” “Maybe it’s because you’re special. People just can’t stand it when something is different.

I shall love thee. Even if I can never know whether my love would be a sin or poison or honey, I shall not stop this journey of loving thee.

What does it mean to be like others? When everyone is different, who should I follow? What would Mom say?

If you think about it that way, then it would’ve been better if Gon had never been born. Because, more than anything, he wouldn’t have had to feel so much pain and loss. But everything loses its meaning if you think that way. Only purpose remains. Barren.

Writing would mean she'd have to sell her own life, and she didn't have the confidence to do that. Basically, she didn't have the guts to be a writer.

Old books seem all right, though. They have a richer scent that’s more alive. Like how autumn leaves smell.

Everyone thinks "ordinary" is easy and all, but how many of them would actually fit into the so-called smooth road the word implied? It sure was a lot harder for me, someone who was not born ordinary. That didn't mean I was extraordinary. I was just a strange boy wandering around somewhere in between. So I decided to give it a try. To become ordinary.

Anything will lose its meaning if you repeat it often enough," she said. "At first you feel you are getting the hang of it, but then as time goes by, you feel like the meaning's changing and becoming tarnished. Then, finally, it gets lost. Completely fades to white.

You're basically a blank canvas. Better to fill it up with good things rather than bad things.

She always called me a monster. To her, that wasn’t a bad thing.

Humans are designed to move on and keep on living, after all.

Luck plays a huge part in all the unfairness of the world. Even more than you’d expect.

I felt my body had outpaced my mind, and that it was as unnecessary and bothersome as a long overcoat in summer. I wanted so much to take it off. If only I could.

lives I’d never witnessed. The emotions I could never feel, and the events I hadn’t experienced could all be found in those volumes.

Unfortunately, I was no genius.

Well. Only your heart knows,” he said, still smiling. “You mean my brain, not my heart. We do whatever the brain tells us to do.” “Technically, yes, but we still say it’s from our heart.

Suddenly, the wind changed course. Dora’s hair slowly changed direction too, whipping over to the opposite side. The breeze carried her scent to my nose. It was a scent I hadn’t smelled before. It smelled like fallen leaves, or the first buds in spring. The kind of smell that evoked contrary images all at once. I

To me, that's like being asked, Why do you live? Do you live for any purpose? Let's be honest, we just live because we're alive. When things are great we're happy, and when things aren't, we cry. Same with running. I'll be happy when I win, I'll be sad when I don't. When I feel I haven't got it, I'll blame myself or regret starting this in the first place. But then I'll still run. Just because! Like living life. That's all!

Books took me to places I could never go otherwise. They shared the confessions of people I'd never witnessed. The emotions I could never feel, and the events I hadn't experienced could all be found in those volumes.

People sometimes say how cool it'd be to be fearless, but they don't know what they're talking about. Fear is an instinctive defense mechanism necessary for survival. Not knowing fear doesn't mean that you're brave; it means you're stupid enough to stay standing on the road when a car is charging toward you.

I also felt comfortable at our bookstore-home. Other people might say they “like” it or even “love” it, but in my vocabulary, “comfortable” was the best scale.

It was incorrect to say I was fine to her question yesterday. You can just leave me alone. That was what I should've said.

I wonder what it means to get beaten by a father you're reunited with for the first time in a dozen years. Before even having the chance to get to know each other.

The Mom who shared the details of my life and hers with somebody was not the Mom I knew. It was a relief to hear that she had that somebody.

I drifted off to sleep only at daybreak when the sky turned sapphire.

It’s not necessarily that I was unable to express feelings, but more that I was unable to identify them in the first place.

Will I live like this my entire life, feeling nothing at all?” I asked after slurping down a bowl of udon.

People just can’t stand it when something is different, aigoo, my adorable little monster.

Yes. I know. That Gon is a good kid. But if someone asked me to talk about him in more detail, I'd only be able to say that he beat me and hurt me, he ripped apart a butterfly, he set his face against the teachers, and threw things at my classmates. That's how language is. It is as hard as proving that Leesu and Gon are the same person. So, I simply said, "I just know he is.

nail on the wall must’ve pricked my leg, because it was bleeding. Gon saw and started weeping like a child. Yes, this was who he was. The kind of person who tears up at a drop of blood, who feels pain for others’ pain.

Before I had time to think, her lips brushed against my lips. They felt like a cushion. Her soft, moist lips slowly pressed into mine. And just like that, we breathed three times. Our chests moved up and down, and up and down, and up and down. Then we lowered our heads at the same time. Our lips parted as our foreheads touched.

After leaving for love, she didn’t want to come back bringing all her misfortune into the house. And so seven years passed. During those years, Mom tried to get by and held out until she realized all this enduring was no use. Until the very brink of a breakdown. Until she finally realized she couldn’t bear it—bear me—on her own anymore.

From now on this is an entirely different story. Completely new and unpredictable. I do not know how this story will unfold. As I said, neither you nor I nor anyone can ever know whether a story is happy or tragic. It may be impossible to categorize a story so neatly in the first place. Life takes on various flavors as it flows. I've decided to confront it. Confront whatever life throws at me, as I always have. And however much I can feel, nothing more, nothing less.

I wish I could never feel fear, pain, guilt, everything . . .” he had said in a teary voice. “That’s not something anyone can just do. Besides, you are too full of emotions. I think you’d rather make a good artist or a musician,” I’d said after some thought.

Children are born every day. They all deserve blessings and to have every possibility open to them. But some of them will grow up to be social outcasts, some will rule and command but with twisted minds. Some, although very few, will succeed against all odds and grow into people who touch hearts.

His shoulders, which had been hunched and still, gradually sank. His face turned wrinkly like a deflated balloon. His head slowly hanging low, his knees buckled. His body was shaking, his head sunk down against his chest. There was no sound, but I knew he was crying. I looked down at him, saying nothing. I felt like I'd become uselessly taller.

<...> every story becomes boring once the ending is spoiled.

At last, I became human. And at that very moment, the world was drifting far away from me. In fact, this is the end of my story.

Too much honesty hurts others — which I had memorized over and over so that it was stuck in my brain.

So do you. So do those you love and those you hate. No one can feel them. You just know they are there.

Before long, as quickly as foam disolves, even those subjects were no longer talked about. It took only ten days.

It is not a race, it's just running. All we need to do is simply feel our bodies splitting the air.

But son, being ordinary is the hardest thing to achieve,

There is no such person who can’t be saved. There are only people who give up on trying to save others.

unmarried woman of words

Can the word "love" be thrown around so casually like that?

Luck plays a huge part in all the unfairness of the world. Even more than you’d expect.

Anyway, this sounds like cliché but you’ll eventually meet the people who you’re meant to meet, no matter what happens.

There is no such person who can’t be saved. There are only people who give up ok trying to save others.

I fell silent for a while, trying to find the words to convince him. But I was too young to have much vocabulary, and I couldn’t think of anything else truer than what I had already said.

Mom said everything was for my sake, calling it love. But to me, it seemed more like we were doing this out of her own desperation not to have a child that was different. Love, according to Mom’s actions, was nothing more than nagging about every little thing, with teary eyes, about how one should act such and such in this and that situation. If that was love, I’d rather neither give nor receive any.

But the human brain is rather a strange thing. And I still truly believe that the heart can prevail over the brain. What I’m trying to say is that you might have just grown in a way that’s a little different from how other people grow.

Do you think I have a crush on here?" I regretted asking him the question as soon as I asked. "Well. Only your heart knows," he said, still smiling. "You mean my brain, not my heart. We do whatever the brain tells us to do." "Technically, yes, but we still say it's from our heart.

Dora was usually surrounded by people and ate with a group. The groups weren't always the same. She wasn't a loner but she wasn't necessarily attached to certain friends, either. She didn't seem to care who she ate with or who she walked home with. Sometimes she was by herself. Still, she wasn't bullied and never looked out of place. She seemed like someone who could exist on her own.

Looking back, Granny must've wanted an ordinary life for Mom, too. But Mom didn't have it. Dr Shim was right--being ordinary was the trickiest path. Everyone thinks "ordinary" is easy and all, but how many of them would actually fit into the so-called smooth road the word implied? It sure was a lot harder for me, someone who was not born ordinary. That didn't mean I was extraordinary. I was just a strange boy wandering around somewhere in between. So I decided to give it a try. To become ordinary.

For one thing, Mom knew Broca and Wernicke were scientists, not patients. She had read all kinds of books about the brain from her regular visits to the local library. She also didn’t like that the doctors saw me as an interesting specimen rather than a human being. She had given up hope early on that the doctors would cure me. All they’d do is put him through weird experiments or give him untested medicines, observe his reactions, and show off their findings at a conference, she wrote in her diary. And so Mom, like so many other overprotective mothers, made a declaration that was both unconvincing and clichéd.

People don’t realize how loud they can be when they gossip. Even when they try to whisper, the gossip always goes straight into others’ ears.

The sea breeze was salty and fishy. The kind of smell that erased the seasons and directions altogether.

Fear is an instinctive defense mechanism necessary for survival. Not knowing fear doesn’t mean that you’re brave; it means you’re stupid enough to stay standing on the road when a car is charging toward you.

Soon I might forget her voice entirely. Everything I had known was beginning to fade away from me. Part Three

People spoke of love so casually, just to mean the slightest pleasure or thanks.

I know this may be a clichéd conclusion to draw. But I have come to think that love is what makes a person human, as well as what makes a monster.

Life takes on various flavors as it flows. I’ve decided to confront it. Confront whatever life throws at me, as I always have. And however much I can feel, nothing more, nothing less.

But books were different. They had lots of blanks. Blanks between words and even between lines. I could squeeze myself in there and sit, or walk, or scribble down my thoughts.

Everybody has two almonds inside their head, stuck firmly on somewhere between the back of your ears and the back of your skull. In fact, they’re called “amygdalae,” derived from the Latin word for almond because their size and shape are exactly like one.