Norwegian Wood

by Haruki Murakami

I would stare at the grains of light suspended in that silent space, struggling to see into my own heart. What did I want? And what did others want from me? But I could never find the answers.

He could charge forward, the optimistic leader, even as his heart writhed in a swamp of loneliness. I saw these paradoxical qualities of his from the start, and I could never understand why they weren’t just as obvious to everyone else. He lived in his own special hell.

Ive seen this in someone but could never put it into words.

I often reread your letters at night when I’m lonely and in pain. I get confused by a lot of things that come from outside, but your descriptions of the world around you give me wonderful relief.

When you fall in love, the natural thing to do is give yourself to it. That’s what I think. It’s just one form of sincerity.