Most near-future fictions are boring. It's always dark and always raining, and people are so unhappy.

No matter how far you travel, you can never get away from yourself.

As long as I was alive, I was something. That was just how it was. But somewhere along the way it all changed. Living turned me into nothing.

The little things are important, Mr. Wind-Up Bird.

A certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect.

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.

As long as I kept my body moving I could forget about the emptiness inside.