For a while is a phrase whose length can’t be measured. At least by the person who’s waiting. And probably is a word whose weight is incalculable.
Waves of consciousness roll in, roll out, leave some writing, and just as quickly new waves roll in and erase it. I try to quickly read what’s written there, but it’s hard.
Talent is like a container. You can work as hard as you want, but the size will never change. It’ll only hold so much water and no more.
But from the first time I met Ame, I was drawn right into her. I couldn’t resist her. And I knew it was happening. I knew it wasn’t going to come my way again, not in this life. That’s when I decided – if I go with her, there’ll come a time that I’ll regret it. But if I don’t go with her, I’ll be losing the key to my existence. Have you ever felt that way about something?
I could drink my coffee, read my book, pass the time of day without any special thought, all because I was part of the regular scenery. Here I had no ties to anyone. Fact is, I’d come to reclaim myself.
It’s simple. If there’s no station, no trains will stop there.
I’m safe inside this container called me.
The more you think about illusions, the more they’ll swell up and take on form. And no longer be an illusion.
Some people are polite, and some are quick. Each one’s a good quality to have, but most of the time quickness trumps politeness.
The world was big and full of weird things and strange people.
The girl was rotten inside. Peel off a layer of that beautiful skin, and you’d find nothing but rotten flesh.
It was just that, no matter where I found myself, I felt like there was a hole inside me, with the wind rushing through. I never felt satisfied. From the outside you wouldn’t imagine I had any troubles.
Death was as silent as the ocean bottom, as sweet as a rose in May.
All I can do is live the life I have. I can’t trade it in for a new one. However strange and misshapen it might be, this is it for the gene carrier that is me.
When it came down to it, though, could anything be completely correct, or completely incorrect? We lived in a world where rain might fall thirty percent, or seventy percent, of the time. Truth was probably no different. There could be thirty percent or seventy percent truth.
I had to put my faith in time.
Sunlight traveled a long distance to reach this planet; an infinitesimal portion of that energy was enough to warm my eyelids. I was moved. That something as insignificant as an eyelid had its place in the workings of the universe, that the cosmic order did not overlook this momentary fact.
It was a narrow world, a world that was standing still. But the narrower it became, the more it betook of stillness, the more this world that enveloped me seemed to overflow with things and people that could only be called strange. They had been there all the while, it seemed, waiting in the shadows for me to stop moving. And every time the wind-up bird came to my yard to wind its spring, the world descendedmore deeply into chaos.
No matter how much he loved someone, he still couldn’t share his life with them. He needed solitary time every day to concentrate, and he couldn’t stand it when someone’s presence threw off his concentration. If he lived with someone he knew he would end up detesting them. Whether it was his parents, a wife, or children. He feared that above all. He wasn’t afraid of loving someone. What he feared was growing to hate someone.
There are plenty of things in history that are best left in the shadows. Accurate knowledge does not improve people’s lives. The objective does not necessarily surpass the subjective, you know. Reality does not necessarily extinguish fantasy.