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It's like the Tibetan Wheel of the Passions. As the wheel turns, the values and feelings on the outer rim rise and fall, shining or sinking into darkness. But true love stays fastened to the axle and doesn't move.
Haruki Murakami
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Haruki Murakami
Age: 75
Born: 1949
Born: January 12
Athletics Competitor
Essayist
Linguist
Novelist
Prosaist
Science Fiction Writer
Translator
University Teacher
Writer
Kyōto
Murakami Haruki
Love
Passion
Outer
Like
Turns
Wheel
Axle
Values
Passions
Fastened
Moving
Wheels
Fall
Rise
Rims
Feelings
Shining
Tibetan
Doesn
Darkness
Sinking
True
Move
Stays
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I keep to this routine every day without variation. The repetition itself becomes the important thing it's a form of mesmerism. I mesmerize myself to reach a deeper state of mind.
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Maybe the only thing I can definitely say about is this: That’s life. Maybe the only thing we can do is accept it, without really knowing what’s going on.
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Never let the darkness or negativity outside affect your inner self. Just wait until morning comes and the bright light will drown out the darkness.
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People lose fifty million skin cells every day. The cells get scraped off and turn into invisible dust, and disappear into the air. Maybe we are nothing but skin cells as far as the world is concerned.
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Only the dead stay seventeen forever.
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If I'm going to merely ramble, maybe I should just snuggle under the warm covers, think of Miu, and play with myself.
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If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking.
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For a long time, she held a special place in my heart. I kept this special place just for her, like a Reserved sign on a quiet corner table in a restaurant. Despite the fact that I was sure I'd never see her again.
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Everyone just keeps on disappearing. Some things vanish, like they were cut away. Others fade slowly into the mist. And all that remains is a desert.
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No matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories.
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It was a strange feeling, like touching a void.
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If there's any guy crazy enough to attack me, I'm going to show him the end of the world -- close up. I'm going to let him see the kingdom come with his own eyes. I'm going to send him straight to the southern hemisphere and let the ashes of death rain all over him and the kangaroos and the wallabies.
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It seems to me, though, that you always understand very well what I can't say very well. Trouble is I end up being even worse at saying things well.
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I’m free, I think. I shut my eyes and think hard and deep about how free I am, but I can’t really understand what it means. All I know is I’m totally alone. All alone in an unfamiliar place, like some solitary explorer who’s lost his compass and his map. Is this what it means to be free? I don’t know, and I give up thinking about it.
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If I choose to write about sheep, it's just because I happened to write about sheep. There is no deep significance.
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I contented myself with whiskey, for medicinal purposes. It helped numb my various aches and pains. Not that the alcohol actually reduced the pain it just gave the pain a life of its own, apart from mine.
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Things may look different to you than they did before. I've had that experience myself. But don't let appearances fool you. There's only one reality.
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Fate seems to be taking me in some even stranger directions.
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Passion can’t sustain itself forever.
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An expectation was there, mixed in with so many other emotions - excitement, resignation, hesitation, confusion, fear - that would well up then wither on the vine. You're optimistic one moment, only to be racked the next by the certainty that it will all fall to pieces. And in the end it does.
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