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

In certain areas of my life, I actively seek out solitude. Especially for someone in my line of work, solitude is, more or less, an inevitable circumstance. Sometimes, however, this sense of isolation, like acid spilling out of a bottle, can unconsciously eat away at a person's heart and dissolve it. You could see it, too, as a kind of double-edged sword. It protects me, but at the same time steadily cuts away at me from the inside.

I am 55 years old now. It takes three years to write one book. I don't know how many books I will be able to write before I die. It is like a countdown. So with each book I am praying - please let me live until I am finished.

Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts.

Something inside me had dropped away, and nothing came in to fill the cavern.

The sky grew darker, painted blue on blue, one stroke at a time, into deeper and deeper shades of night.

People with dark souls have nothing but dark dreams. People with really dark souls do nothing but dream.