Nakata’s empty inside... Do you know what it means to be completely empty? Being empty is like a vacant house. An unlocked, vacant house. Anybody can come in, anytime they want. That’s what scares me the most.
I don’t give a damn about what people say. They can be reptile food for all I care.
Don’t you think it would be wonderful to get rid of everything and everybody and just go someplace where you don’t know a soul? Sometimes I feel like doing that. I really really want to do it sometimes.
Death is not the opposite of life but an innate part of it. By living our lives, we nurture death.
It made her think of Laika, the dog. The man-made satellite streaking soundlessly across the blackness of outer space. The dark, lustrous eyes of the dog gazing out of the tiny window. In the infinite loneliness of space, what could Laika possibly be looking at?
A certain something, he felt, had managed to work its way in through a tiny opening and was trying to fill a blank space inside him. The void was not one that she had made. It had always been there inside him. She had merely managed to shine a special light on it.
But hell, you’ve gotta work with what you’ve got.
What the world needs is a set villain that people can point at and say, “It’s all your fault!
Well, finally, the events I’ve been through have been tremendously complicated. All kinds of characters have come on the scene, and strange things have happened one after another, to the point where, if I try to think about them in order, I lose track.
What did it mean for a person to be free? she would often ask herself. Even if you managed to escape from one cage, weren’t you just in another, larger one?
What’s really important here,” I whispered loudly to myself,“is not the big things other people have thought up, but the small things you, yourself have.
When the orbits of these two satellites of ours happened to cross paths, we could be together. Maybe even open our hearts to each other. But that was only for the briefest moment. In the next instant we’d be in absolute solitude. Until we burned up and became nothing.
Si he dejado una herida en tu interior, esta herida no es solo tuya, tambien es mia. Ai que no me odies por ello. Soy un ser imperfecto. Mucho mas imperfecto de lo que tu crees.
What do we talk about? Just ordinary things. What happened today, or books we’ve read, or tomorrow’s weather, you know. Don’t tell me you’re wondering if people jump to their feet and shout stuff like ‘It’ll rain tomorrow if a polar bear eats the stars tonight!
I can’t build a simple shelf. I have no idea how to change an oil filter on a car. I can’t even stick a stamp on an envelope straight. And I’m always dialling the wrong number. But I have come up with a few original cocktails that people seem to like.
I just run. I run in void. Or maybe I should put it the other way: I run in order to acquire a void.
People are by and large a product of where they were born and raised. How you think and feel’s always linked to the lie of the land, the temperature. The prevailing winds, even.
Still, being able to feel pain was good, he thought. It’s when you can’t even feel pain anymore that you’re in real trouble.
If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking. That’s the world of hicks and slobs. Real people would be ashamed of themselves doing that.
She only felt revulsion for any kind if religious fundamentalists. The very thought if such people’s intolerant worldview, their inflated sense of their own superiority, and thei callous imposition of their own beliefs on others was enough to fill her with rage.