Haruki Murakami, 色彩を持たない多崎つくると、彼の巡礼の年 Quotes

Waves of thought are stirring. In a twilight corner of her consciousness, one tiny fragment and another tiny fragment call out wordlessly to eachother, their spreading ripples intermingling.

I never made any plan before writing, however I succeeded. I enjoyed writing with excitement ,"what happen on the next page?"

Once she was out of the car and gone, my world was suddenly hollow and meaningless.

I always write my novels with music (I don't listened to the music seriously.) Music seems to encourage me.

Don't let appearances fool you. There's always only one reality!

Life: I'll never understand it.

Beyond the window, some kind of small, black thing shot across the sky. A bird, possibly. Or it might have been someone's soul being blown to the far side of the world.

It's not right for one friend to do all the giving and the other to do all the taking: that's not real friendship.

You are entering a phase of your life in which many different things will occur...bad things that seem good at first and good things that seem bad at first.

It is the same with anything - you have to learn through your own experience, paying your own way. You can't learn it from a book.

What do I like about math? , When I've got figures in front of me, it relaxes me. Kind of like, everything fits where it belongs.

I hate requests. They make me feel unhappy. It's like when I take a book out of the library. As soon as I start to read it, all I can think about is when I'll finish it.

All imperfections are forced upon the imperfect, so the 'perfect' can live content and oblivious.

I'd made it back to the land of the living. No matter how boring or mediocre a world it might be, this was it.

I used to think the years would go by in order, that you get older one year at a time. But it's not like that. It happens overnight.

Even if you managed to escape from one cage, weren't you just in another, larger one?

Being alive, if you had to define it, meant emitting a variety of smells.

This uneasiness comes over me from time to time, and I feel as if I've somehow been pieced together from two different puzzles.

They put up with such strenuous training, and where did their thoughts, their hopes and dreams, disappear to? When people pass away, do their thoughts just vanish?

It’s precisely because of the pain, the we can get the feeling, through this process, of really being alive—or at least a partial sense of it.

I'm not a fast reader. I like to linger over each sentence, enjoying the style. If I don't enjoy the writing, I stop.

Having an object that symbolizes freedom might make a person happier than actually getting the freedom it represents.

I'm an average person. Is just that I like reading.

It takes years to build up, it takes moments to destroy.

As long as an individual's alive, he will undergo experience in some form or other, and those experiences are stored up instant by instant. To stop experiencin' is to die.

The curious thing about individuals is that their singularity always goes beyond any category or generalization in the book.

I've always liked libraries. They're quiet and full of books and full of knowledge.

Of course you keep telling yourself there's something to be learned from everything, and growing old shouldn't be that hard. That's the general drift.

So many dreams, so many disappointments, so many promises. And in the end, they all just vanish.

You have to make an effort to always look at the good side, always think about the good things. Then you've got nothing to be afraid of. If something bad comes up, you do more thinking at that point.

I'm the kind of person who has to totally commit to whatever I do.

Some people can work their butts off and never get what they're aiming for while others can get it without any effort at all.

My grandpa always said asking a question is embarrassing for a moment, but not asking is embarrassing for a lifetime.

You know what it’s like when you’re trying to fall asleep and it only makes you more wide awake?

The worst thoughts usually strike in the dead of the night.

The world is full of ways and means to waste time.

I’m just kinda tired. Like a monkey in the rain.

Probably." "Again with the probablys." "A world full of probablys," she said.

Another person's life is that person's life. You can't take responsibility.

At least he never walked.

Wasn't he the one who said you shouldn't trust anybody who calls himself an ordinar man? - Naoko

The dead will always be dead, but we have to go on living.

Genius or fool, you don't live in the world alone. You can hide underground or you can build a wall around yourself, but somebody's going to come along and screw up the works.

But if you peeled away the ornamental egos that she had built, there was only an abyss of nothingness and the intense thirst that came with it.

Things may look different to you than they did before. I've had that experience myself. But don't let appearances fool you. There's only one reality.

I’ve never once thought about how I was going to die,” she said. “I can’t think about it. I don’t even know how I’m going to live.

At the entrance to the original tower, there is a stone into which Jung carved some words with his own hand: 'Cold or not, God is present.

Whoa!" he says with a smile. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepen. "Chicken salad a la George Orwell!

It is a lonely life sometimes, like throwing a stone into the deep darkness. It might hit something, but you can’t see it. The only thing you can do is to guess, and to believe.

Problem is, once I sit at my desk and put all these down on paper. I realize something vital is missing. It doesn't crystallize - no crystals, just pebbles. And I'm not transported anywhere.