Artists are those who can evade the verbose.

Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.

you mean machines are like humans?" I shook my head. "No, not like humans. With machines the feeling is, well, more finite. It doesn't go any further. With humans it's different. The feeling is always changing. Like if you love somebody, the love is always shifting or wavering. It's always questioning or inflating or disappearing or denying or hurting. And the thing is, you can't do anything about it, you can't control it. With my Subaru, it's not so complicated.

No matter what form the relationship might take, he was the only person she could picture sharing her life with.

I probably still haven’t completely adapted to the world. I don’t know, I feel like this isn’t the real world. The people, the scene: they just don’t seem real to me.

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

Sex is an extremely subtle undertaking, unlike going to the department store on a Sunday to buy a thermos.