I'll write to you. A super-long letter, like in an old-fashioned novel

I may not be the most likable person in the world, but I try not to upset people.

If I'm going to merely ramble, maybe I should just snuggle under the warm covers, think of Miu, and play with myself.

People soon get tired of things that aren't boring, but not of what is boring.

She's always polite and kind, but her words lack the kind of curiosity and excitement you'd normally expect. Her true feelings- assuming such things exist- remain hidden away. Except for when a practical sort of decision has to be made, she never gives her personal opinion about anything. She seldom talks about herself, instead letting others talk, nodding warmly as she listens. But most people start to feel vaguely uneasy when talking with her, as if they suspect they're wasting her time, trampling on her private, graceful, dignified world. And that impression is, for the most part, correct.

Was it Aristotle who said the human soul is composed of reason, will, and desire?” “No, that was Plato. Aristotle and Plato were as different as Mel Tormé and Bing Crosby. In any case, things were a lot simpler in the old days,” Komatsu said. “Wouldn’t it be fun to imagine reason, will, and desire engaged in a fierce debate around a table?

Exhaustion pays no mind to age or beauty. Like rain and earthquakes and hail and floods.