Kafka on the Shore

by Haruki Murakami

listen to Radiohead on my Walkman,

Relatable

Works that have a certain imperfection to them have an appeal for that very reason—or at least they appeal to certain types of people.

Silence, I discover, is something you can actually hear.

There’s only one kind of happiness, but misfortune comes in all shapes and sizes. It’s like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story.

“The pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future. In truth, all sensation is already memory.”

I’m just waiting for death to come. Like sitting on a bench at the station, waiting for the train.”

“Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who’s in love gets sad when they think of their lover. It’s like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of, one you haven’t seen in a long time. It’s just a natural feeling. You’re not the person who discovered that feeling, so don’t go trying to patent it, okay?”

all civilization is the product of a fenced-in lack of freedom.