There are some things in this world that can be done over, and some that can’t. And time passing is one thing that can’t be redone. Come this far, and you can’t go back.
No, we weren’t lovers, but in a way we had opened ourselves to each other even more deeply than lovers do. The thought caused me a good deal of grief. What a terrible thing it is to wound someone you really care for – and to do it so unconsciously.
I miss you something awful sometimes, but in general I go on living with all the energy I can muster.
I see many people who disguise themselves. I know some people who say, “I’m an artist, I’m very creative, I’m different from ordinary people.” But I don’t believe those people. I like to see the strangeness or weirdness in ordinary people or ordinary scenery or ordinary, everyday life.
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.