A friend to kill time is a friend sublime.

Something in her small eyes caught the sunlight and glistened, like a glacier on the faraway face of a mountain.

Gazing at the rain, I consider what it means to belong, to become part of something. To have someone cry for me.

My biggest faults is that the faults I was born with grow bigger each year. It's like I was raising chickens inside me. The chickens lay eggs and the eggs hatch into other chickens, which then lay eggs. Is this any way to live a life? What with all these faults I've got going, I have to wonder. Sure, I get by. But in the end, that's not the question, is it?

I like to read books. I like to listen to music.

Life might just be an absurd, even crude, chain of events and nothing more.

[...] Shimamoto had her own little world within her. A world that was for her alone, one I could not enter.