Gazing at the rain, I consider what it means to belong, to become part of something. To have someone cry for me. — Haruki Murakami, Dance, Dance, Dance (The Rat #4) Vintage Books (December 1, 2003) Advertisements
Loss was not a skill, not a measure of a life. And yet I still felt I had something to lose. — Haruki Murakami, Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World. (Kodansha USA Inc; 1st edition, September 1, 1991) Originally published 1985.
Old age arrives like the first days of fall. One afternoon you look up, or smell something in the air, and know instinctively things have changed. I suppose the same thing is true about our own death. Suddenly it’s near enough that we can smell it. — Jonathan Carroll, The Marriage of Sticks. (Tor Books;… Continue reading Jonathan Carroll
I wanted to write you a story about magic. I wanted rabbits appearing from hats. I wanted balloons lifting you into the sky. It turned out to be nothing but sadness, war, heartbreak. You never saw it, but there’s a garden inside me. ― Shane Jones, Light Boxes. (Publishing Genius Press; first edition, February 11,… Continue reading Shane Jones
“Don’t worry,” he would say, smiling. “Dying is much more difficult than one imagines.” — Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude. (Harper & Row, 1970)
He stared into the fast-flowing waters and contemplated the tragedy of desire. — Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown (Random House, 2005)
Upset by two nostalgias facing each other like two mirrors, he lost his marvelous sense of unreality and he ended up recommending to all of them that they leave Macondo, that they forget everything he had taught them about the world and the human heart, that they shit on Horace, and that wherever they might… Continue reading Gabriel García Márquez