“Some weekend afternoon when the sun-drenched scene outside the window seems unusually still and Dong-ho's profile fits into your mind, mighn't the thing flickering in front of your eyes be what they call a soul? In the early hours of the morning, when dreams you can't remember have left your cheeks wet and the contours of that face jolt into an abrupt clarity, mighn't that wavering be a soul's emergence?”
Book:Human Acts