Not that running away’s going to solve everything. I don’t want to rain on your parade or anything, but I wouldn’t count on escaping this place if I were you. No matter how far you run. Distance might not solve anything.
I’m not human. I’m a piece of machinery. I don’t need to feel a thing. Just forge on ahead.
I think history is collective memories. In writing, I’m using my own memory, and I’m using my collective memory.
It is very simple, actually. It is because you and Tengo were so powerfully drawn to each other.
If she did experience sex-or something close to it-in high school, I’m sure it would have been less out of sexual desire or love than literary curiosity.
No matter what the situation may be, I still take pleasure in witnessing the joy of others.
One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds.
Not everything was lost in the flow of time.
Writing a long novel is like survival training. Physical strength is as necessary as artistic sensitivity.
Until the bitter end, the emptiness inside her was hers alone.
Most of what I know about writing I’ve learned through running every day.
Of course you got rights, the law’s on your side, but sometimes the law takes a long time to kick in and so it gets put in the hands of us poor suckers on duty. You get my drift?
When you’re young, you think you can handle anything. By the time you find out otherwise, it’s already too late. You got a stocking wrapped around your neck.
As I already explaned, I don’t have any form. I’m a conceptual metaphysical object.
The world would be a pretty dull place if it were made up only of the first-rate, right?
You could be anybody when you’re writing. That’s the reason that I’m writing: to be anybody. You can put your feet in various shoes and experience anything.
I always feel like I’m struggling to become someone else. Like I’m trying to find a new place, grab hold of a new life, a new personality. I guess it’s part of growing up; it’s also an attempt to reinvent myself.
My point is: in this whole wide world the only person you can depend on is you.
Certain kinds of knowledge rob people of their sleep.
Good style happens in one of two ways: the writer either has an inborn talent or is willing to work herself to death to get it.