South of the Border, West of the Sun: A Novel (Vintage International)

by Haruki Murakami

Her name was Izumi. Love your name, I told her the first time we talked. “Mountain spring,” it means in Japanese.

In order to succeed, you need luck and brains. Those are the basics. But that’s not enough. You need capital. Not enough capital, and your hands are tied. But above all, you need the knack. Without it, all those other things will get you nowhere.”

“Our world’s exactly the same. Rain falls and the flowers bloom. No rain, they wither up. Bugs are eaten by lizards, lizards are eaten by birds. But in the end, every one of them dies. They die and dry up. One generation dies, and the next one takes over. That’s how it goes. Lots of different ways to live. And lots of different ways to die. But in the end that doesn’t make a bit of difference. All that remains is a desert.”

Everyone just keeps on disappearing. Some things just vanish, like they were cut away. Others fade slowly into the mist. And all that remains is a desert.

“We have several original cocktails,” I said. “The most popular one’s Robin’s Nest, after the bar. A little thing I whipped up myself. You use rum and vodka as a base. It’s easy going down, but it packs a wallop.” “Sounds good for wooing women.” “Well, I thought that was the whole point of cocktails.” She smiled. “Okay, I’ll try one.”

Look at the rain long enough, with no thoughts in your head, and you gradually feel your body falling loose, shaking free of the world of reality. Rain has the power to hypnotize.

I sat down and closed my eyes. Echoes of music faded away, leaving me alone. In that gentle darkness, the rain continued to fall without a sound.

Most people don’t realize it, but good cocktails demand talent.

People are willing to spend a lot of money to come all this way to have some drinks—and do you know why? Because everyone’s seeking the same thing: an imaginary place, their own castle in the air, and their very own special corner of it.”

Things that have form will all disappear. But certain feelings stay with us forever.”

“People want to be bowled over by something special. Nine times out of ten you might strike out but that tenth time, that peak experience, is what people want. That’s what can move the world. That’s art.”

“Start making excuses, and there’s no end to it,”

“Hajime, you can’t tell anything from photographs. They’re just a shadow.

“Hajime,” she began, “the sad truth is that certain types of things can’t go backward. Once they start going forward, no matter what you do, they can’t go back the way they were. If even one little thing goes awry, then that’s how it will stay forever.”

“For a while is a phrase whose length can’t be measured. At least by the person who’s waiting,”

She smiled too. The rain has stopped, without a sound there’s a break in the clouds, and the very first rays of sunlight shine through—that kind of smile. Small, warm lines at the corners of her eyes, holding out the promise of something wonderful.

No matter where I go, I still end up me.