and she realized that she (her soul) was not at all involved, only her body, her body alone. The body that had betrayed her and that she had sent out into the world among other bodies.

Not at first. She was against new things. She thought I would never be successful, and that was wrong, she was wrong. Later she started to believe that I could maybe be somebody. But it was always a big maybe. To her, the life that I wanted, it was all a dream. And she didn’t believe in dreams.

She believed in nothing; only her skepticism kept her from being an athiest.

She believed in nothing, if it wasn't for her skepticism she would be an athiest.

She had no existence, in herself. From earliest childhood she had believed this. Rather she was a reflecting surface, reflecting others' perception of her, and love of her.

Yes, she now believed that when her body died, her soul would go on. Gods she did not worship, and faith she had none, but love she had and forever. Love alone had awakened her sleeping soul and had made it deathless.
She knew she was immortal.

…she did not believe that the world was a vale of tears but rather a joke that God had played and that it was idiotic to take it seriously if He himself never had.

She had a warrior's heart, but the gods in their blind malice had given her the feeble body of a woman.

It was as though she was an exile from a world that saw things her way

She did not believe that the world was a vale of tears but rather a joke that God had played and that it was idiotic to take it seriously.

I once loved a woman, a child I am told
I gave her my heart but she wanted my soul.

She had no images of this love. She could offer no anecdotes. It was a belief rather than a memory.

She believed in nothing. Only her scepticism kept her from being an atheist.

She was all the things I wasn't. And i was all the things she wasn't. she could paint circles around anyone; I couldn't even draw a straight line. She was never into sports; I've always been. Her hand, it fit mine.