How many Sundays - how many hundreds of Sundays like this - lay ahead of me? โQuiet, peaceful, and lonely,โ I said aloud to myself. On Sundays, I didn't wind my spring.
Haruki MurakamiShe was truly a beautiful girl. I could feel a small polished stone sinking through the darkest waters of my heart. All those deep convoluted channels and passageways, and yet she managed to toss her pebble right down to the bottom of it all.
Haruki MurakamiIt's like the Tibetan Wheel of the Passions. As the wheel turns, the values and feelings on the outer rim rise and fall, shining or sinking into darkness. But true love stays fastened to the axle and doesn't move.
Haruki MurakamiI do feel that Iโve managed to make something I could maybe call my worldโฆover timeโฆlittle by little. And when Iโm inside it, to some extent, I feel kind of relieved. But the very fact I felt I had to make such a world probably means that Iโm a weak person, that I bruise easily, donโt you think? And in the eyes of society at large, that world of mine is a puny little thing. Itโs like a cardboard house: a puff of wind might carry it off somewhere.
Haruki Murakami