The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

by Haruki Murakami

Is it possible, finally, for one human being to achieve perfect understanding of another?

Nothing so consumes a person as meaningless exertion.

“I’m only sixteen,” she said, “and I don’t know much about the world, but I do know one thing for sure. If I’m pessimistic, then the adults in this world who are not pessimistic are a bunch of idiots.”

“You’ve got to spend your money for the things that money can buy, not worry about profit or loss. Save your energy for the things that money can’t buy.”

I rinsed my mouth and went on looking at my face for a time. I can’t find the image, I said to myself. I’m thirty, I’m standing still, and I can’t find the image.

Gripping the receiver, I maintained my silence. “Look around,” she said. “Look all around you and tell me what’s there. What is it you see?”

“But do be careful, Mr. Okada. To know one’s own state is not a simple matter. One cannot look directly at one’s own face with one’s own eyes, for example. One has no choice but to look at one’s reflection in the mirror. Through experience, we come to believe that the image is correct, but that is all.”