Sputnik Sweetheart

by Haruki Murakami

Remove everything pointless from an imperfect life and it’d lose even its imperfection.

No man should go through life without once experiencing healthy, even bored solitude in the wilderness, finding himself depending solely on himself and thereby learning his true and hidden strength.

In the infinite loneliness of space, what could Laika possibly be looking at?

Sumire wrote some works that had a beginning. And some that had an end. But never one that had both a beginning and an end.

I was only five at the time, but I was struck by the way things you see aren’t always true to life.

Like I always do when somebody praises me, I mumbled some vague reply.

I sat, reading, waiting for the dawn.

I’ve always been disturbed by the thought that I’m not painting a very objective picture of myself.

So what are people supposed to do if they want to avoid a collision (thud!) but still lie in the field, enjoying the clouds drifting by, listening to the grass grow

I was too used to being strong, and never tried to understand those who were weak. I was too used to being fortunate, and didn’t try to understand those less fortunate. Too used to being healthy, and didn’t try to understand the pain of those who weren’t. Whenever I saw a person in trouble, somebody paralysed by events, I decided it was entirely their fault – they just weren’t trying hard enough. People who complain were just plain lazy.

Why do people have to be this lonely? What’s the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the Earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?