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Grief is a most peculiar thing; we__e so helpless in the face of it. It__ like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it.
Arthur Golden Memoirs of a Geisha
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Grief is a most peculiar thing; we__e so helpless in the face of it. It__ like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it.
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Arthur Golden

Memoirs of a Geisha

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