On Another's Sorrow

Before the dust settles.

A pure and pristine song.

Some school traditions run older than the oak trees in the forest.

Only by opening it can we know what's inside—but should we really?

It seems they could stand there in silence forever.

A bird flies on more than wings alone.

Legends never belong to those who live them. No one knows what the ones that follow added to their story.

Rockslides are just the beginning of their problems.

What could be more pressing than the work right in front of us?

One must have the wisdom to adapt to endless change in the face of what never changes.

Now each of us must find our own way forward.

What you learn in school isn't always useless—run into enough trouble, and you'll find a moment to put it to use.

Life finds a way, as it always has.

Still and unmoved.

A path cleared ahead of you.

Don't worry—the guide hasn't gone anywhere.

A single candle's light cannot fill an empty room.

Gaze into the abyss.

It's time to leave—ready or not.

Even the untouchable has a texture.

Power and reason were pressed into white bricks, and the great statue built from them is unbreakable.

Please don't forget every dove that flies your way—and the olive branches they carry from afar.

Can I see a falling tear, and not feel my sorrow's share?

Walk free from the maze of lies and find a treasure as light as breath.

People say that deep in the mountains, where birdsong echoes ...