Nobody likes being alone. I just hate to be disappointed.
I have a thing about losers. Flaws in oneself open you up to others with flaws.
In the darkness, I returned to that small world of hers.
Without a true self, a person can not go on living. It is like the ground we stand on. Without the ground, we can build nothing.
I was impressed by the variety of dreams and goals that life could offer.
I guess I’ve been waiting so long I’m looking for perfection. That makes it tough.
It was as if my whole life revolved around trying to judge the appropriate point in a conversation to say goodbye.
My world foreshortened, flattening into a credit card. Seen head on, things seemed merely skewed, but from the side the view was virtually meaningless – a one-dimensional wafer. Everything about me may have been crammed in there, but it was only plastic. Indecipherable except to some machine.
It’s the working class that keeps the world running, and it’s the working class that gets exploited. What the hell kind of revolution have you got just tossing out big words that working-class people can’t understand.
Words have all died in the hollow of time, piling up soundlessly at the dark bottom of a volcanic lake.
He stopped complaining, but now I was annoyed. I went to the roof and drank alone.
Looking at her nails, Aomame had a strong sense of what a fragile, fleeting thing her own existance was. Something as simple as the shape of her fingernails: it had been decided without her.
In parallel with their ceaseless consumption of time, people would ceaselessly reproduce time that they had mentally adjusted.
E foarte frig acum si mi-au intepenit mainile. De parca n-ar fi mainile mele. Si creierul la fel, parca n-ar fi al meu. A inceput sa si ninga. Imi pare ca ninge cu fragmente mici din creierul altcuiva. O ninsoare care se depune ca materia unui creier strain. – Sobolanul.
Our life here was just a momentary illusion, and someday reality would yank us back to the world we came from.
But this is something you have to figure out on your own. Nobody can help you. That’s what love’s all about, Kafka. You’re the one having those wonderful feelings. but you have to go it alone as you wander through the dark. Your mind and body have to bear it. All by yourself.
For every theory there has to be counterevidence – otherwise science wouldn’t progress.
The harder I try to realistically portray real things, the more the things that appear in my work have a tendency to become unreal.
It suddenly occurred to me that true believers in hard-driving jazz – Albert Ayler, Don Cherry, Cecil Taylor – could never become owners of cleaning shops in malls across from railroad stations.
What they were after wasn’t further complexification or sophistication of existing methods, but unprecedented technology. Wasn’t the kind of thinkin’ you get from workaday university lab scholars, publish-or-perishin’ and countin’ their pay. The truly original scientist is a free individual.