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.
Beyond the edge of the world there’s a space where emptiness and substance neatly overlap, where past and future form a continuous, endless loop. And, hovering about, there are signs no one has ever read, chords no one has ever heard. ― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore. (Vintage, January 3, 2006) Originally published 2002.
I realize full well how hard it must be to go on living alone in a place from which someone has left you, but there is nothing so cruel in this world as the desolation of having nothing to hope for. — Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (Harvill/Panther 1999:; Limited centenary ed edition 1999)… Continue reading Haruki Murakami
He sometimes wondered if she had become involved with him just so that she could cry in someone’s arms. Maybe she can’t cry alone, and that’s why she needs me. ― Haruki Murakami, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman. (Knopf; First Edition edition August 29, 2006)
Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I’m gazing at a distant star. […] It’s dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago. Maybe the star doesn’t even exist any more. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything. ― Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West… Continue reading Haruki Murakami
One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds. Pain linked to pain, fragility to fragility. There is no silence without a cry of grief, no forgiveness without bloodshed, no acceptance without a passage through acute loss. That is what lies at the root of true… Continue reading Haruki Murakami