You're eighteen years old, Sayuri," she went on. "Neither you nor I can know your destiny. You may
never know it! Destiny isn't always like a party at the end of the evening. Sometimes it's nothing more
than struggling through life from day to day."
"But, Mameha-san, how cruel!"
"Yes, it is cruel," she said. "But none of us can escape destiny."
"Please, it isn't a matter of escaping my destiny, or anything of that sort. Nobu-san is a good man, just as
you say. I know I should feel nothing but gratitude for his interest, but . . . there are so many things I've
dreamed about."
"And you're afraid that once Nobu has touched you, after that they can never be? Really, Sayuri, what
did you think life as a geisha would be like? We don't become geisha so our lives will be satisfying. We
become geisha because we have no other choice."
"Oh, Mameha-san . . . please . . . have I really been so foolish to keep my hopes alive that perhaps one
day-"
"Young girls hope all sorts of foolish things, Sayuri. Hopes are like hair ornaments. Girls want to wear
too many of them. When they become old women they look silly wearing even one.
I expect you to go through life with your eyes open! If you keep your
destiny in mind, every moment in life becomes an opportunity for moving closer to it.
Every step I have taken has been to bring myself closer to you.
Arthur GoldenA memoir provides a record not so much of the memoirist as of the memoirist's world.
Arthur GoldenI cannot tell you what it is that guides us in this life; but for me, I fell toward the Chairman just as a stone must fall toward the earth. When I cut my lip and met Mr. Tanaka, when my mother died and I was cruelly sold, it was all like a stream that falls over rocky cliffs before it can reach the ocean. Even now that he is gone I have him still, in the richness of my memories.
Arthur GoldenTags: death life-lessons
I began to feel that all the people I'd ever known who had died or left me had not in fact gone away, but continued to live on inside me just as this man's wife lived on inside him.
Arthur GoldenTags: death
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