“Lost something?’
Yes, my mind.”

“I had lost my mind and fallen into my heart.”

“Out of everything I've lost, I miss my mind the most!”

“I put my heart and soul into my work, and I have lost my mind in the process.”

“Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry. Yes indeed.”

“Prayers are answered in one of four ways,” she said. “Yes. No. I have
something else in mind. And…”
She paused long enough for my impatience to show. “And what’s the
fourth answer?”
“Wait,” she said.”

“Out of all the things I have lost, I miss my mind the most.”

“I just remembered that I'm absent minded… wait, I mean I lost my mind, I can't find it.”

“I have no sense of why I lost my freedom and if you do not know how you lost something, how can you protect it?”

“When wealth is lost, nothing is lost; when health is lost, something is lost; when character is lost, all is lost.”