The fresh smell of coffee soon wafted through the apartment, the smell that separates night from day.

Thinking about spaghetti that boils eternally but is never done is a sad, sad thing.

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.

You always look so cool, like no matter what happens, it’s got nothing to do with you, but you’re not really like that. In your own way, you’re out there fighting as hard as you can, even if other people can’t tell by looking at you.

You like to write. It's the single most important quality for someone who wants to be a writer. But not in itself enough.

The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts.

The things she most wanted to tell him would lose their meaning the moment she put them into words.