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If I stayed here, something inside me would be lost forever—something I couldn't afford to lose. It was like a vague dream, a burning, unfulfilled desire. The kind of dream people have only when they're seventeen.

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
People
Forever
Stayed
Desire
Vague
Lost
Afford
Dream
Burning
Kind
Couldn
Something
Inside
Would
Lose
Unfulfilled
Like
Loses
Seventeen

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So I made up my mind I was going to find someone who would love me unconditionally three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Watanabe: Wow, and did your search pay off? M: That's the hard part. I guess I've been waiting so long I'm looking for perfection. That makes it tough.
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I am nothing. I’m like someone who’s been thrown into the ocean at night, floating all alone. I reach out, but no one is there. I call out, but no one answers. I have no connection to anything.
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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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Life might just be an absurd, even crude, chain of events and nothing more.
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Life's no piece of cake, mind you, but the recipe's my own to fool with.
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I want to write about people who dream and wait for the night to end, who long for the light so they can hold the ones they love.
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Letters are just pieces of paper, I said. Burn them, and what stays in your heart will stay keep them, and what vanishes will vanish.
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When I was little, I had this science book. There was a section on 'What would happen to the world if there was no friction?' Answer: 'Everything on earth would fly into space from the centrifugal force of revolution.' That was my mood.
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Don't you think it would be wonderful to get rid of everything and everybody and just go some place where you don't know a soul?
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He was silent for thirty seconds, maybe a minute. I uncrossed my legs under the table and wondered if this was the right moment to leave. It was as if my whole life revolved around trying to judge the right point in a conversation to say goodbye.
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If you're in pitch blackness, all you can do is sit tight until your eyes get used to the dark.
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A poet might die at twenty-one, a revolutionary or a rock star at twenty four. But after that you assume everything’s going to be all right. you’ve made it past Dead Man’s Curve and you’re out of the tunnel, cruising straight for your destination down a six lane highway whether you want it or not.
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It's not right for one friend to do all the giving and the other to do all the taking: that's not real friendship.
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I used to think the years would go by in order, that you get older one year at a time. But it's not like that. It happens overnight.
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I think of myself as more the non-turn-on type. so when I do get turned on, I don’t trust it, I have to investigate the source.
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That's evolution. Evolution's always hard. Hard and bleak. No such thing as happy evolution
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You know what girls are like. They turn twenty or twenty-one and all of a sudden they start having these concrete ideas. They get super realistic. And when that happens, everything that seemed so sweet and lovable about them begins to look ordinary and depressing.
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Colours shone with exceptional clarity in the rain. The ground was a deep black, the pine branches a brilliant green, the people wrapped in yellow looking like special spirits that were allowed to wander over the earth on rainy mornings only.
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Killing time is not an easy job.
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