Haruki Murakami

“Our life here was just a momentary illusion, and someday reality would yank us back to the world we came from.”

“The kind of helpless feeling when everything you're used to has been ripped away. Like there's no more gravity, and I'm left to drift in outer space with no idea where I'm going.”

“Isn't life strange? There are people who have so many leftover clothes they can't stuff them all in their wardrobe. And then there are people like me, whose socks never match.”

“What's nurtured slowly grows well.”

“People naturally pay their respects to the dead. The person had, after all, just accomplished the personal, profound feat of dying.”

“Ok I'm not so smart I'm working class. But it's the working class that keeps the world running and it's the working class that get exploited. What kind revolution is it that just throws out big words that working class people can't understand.Revolution or not the working class will just keep on scraping a living in the same old shitholesI'm not going to believe in any damned revolution. Love is all I'm going to believe in. -- Midori”

“Hoshino found Oshima an appealing young man. Intelligent, well groomed, obviously from a good family. And quite kind. He's got to be gay, right? Not that Hoshino cared. To each his own, was his thinking. Some men talk with stones, and some men sleep with other men.”

“continuamos viviendo cada uno a su manera, incluso ahora. Por profunda y fatal que sea la perdida, por importante que sea lo que nos han arrancado de las manos, aunque nos hayamos convertido en alguien completamente distinto y solo conservemos, de lo que antes eramos, una fina capa de piel, a pesar de todo, podemos continuar viviendo, asi, en silencio”

“El conocimiento es así. El mundo cambia según nuestra percepción. Existe, sin duda alguna, aquí y de esta forma, pero, desde el punto de vista fenoménico el mundo no es sino una posibilidad entre un número infinito de posibilidades. Para ser más preciso, el mundo cambia según dé uno un paso hacia la derecha o hacia la izquierda. Por lo tanto, el mundo se modifica a medida que cambian los recuerdos.”

“Cuando una persona quiere alcanzar algo piensa de manera espontánea en tres cosas: ¿qué he conseguido hasta el momento? ¿En qué posición me encuentro ahora?¿Qué debo hacer de aquí en adelante? Si uno no puede contestar a esas tres cosas, sólo le queda el miedo, la falta de confianza en sí mismo y el cansancio. Y precisamente en esa situación me encontraba yo.”

“Elegir es eso. Y uno tiene que elegir el bando que le ofrece mayores posibilidades, aunque la diferencia sea sólo de un miserable uno por ciento. Es como el ajedrez. Te dan un jaque mate, pero tú escapas. Y, mientras te estás escabullendo, es posible que tu adversario meta la pata. Por más poderoso que sea un contrincante, no puede descartarse la posibilidad de que cometa algún error.”

“La clase de chicas guapas que, por más tiempo que las mires, en cuanto apartas los ojos de ellas, ya no te acuerdas de qué cara tenían. En el mundo existe este tipo de belleza. Que es como los pomelos: indistinta.”

“Pero si no hay futuro –dijo–. ¿Acaso todavía no lo sabes? Esto es el fin del mundo. Nosotros tendremos que quedarnos eternamente aquí.”

“Whether by chance conjunction or not, the “wind-up bird” was a powerful presence in Cinnamon’s story. The cry of this bird was audible only to certain special people, who were guided by it toward inescapable ruin. The will of human beings meant nothing, then, as the veterinarian always seemed to feel. People were no more than dolls set on tabletops, the springs in their backs wound up tight, dolls set to move in ways they could not choose, moving in directions they could not choose. Nearly all within range of the wind-up bird’s cry were ruined, lost. Most of them died, plunging over the edge of the table.”

“Smettila di tormentarti tanto. Ogni cosa segue comunque il suo corso, e per quanto uno possa fare del suo meglio, a volte è impossibile evitare che qualcuno rimanga ferito. È la vita. Faccio un po' il grillo parlante ma è ora che tu cominci a imparare certi meccanismi della vita. A volte tu ti sforzi troppo di adattare la vita ai tuoi meccanismi. Se non vuoi finire anche tu in una clinica psichiatrica cerca di essere un po' più aperto e di abbandonarti di più alla vita così come viene. Anche una donna debole e imperfetta come me ogni tanto arriva a rendersi conto di quanto meravigliosa sia la vita.”

“I always say—a prejudice on my part, I'm sure—you can tell a lot about a person's character from his choice of sofa. Sofas constitute a realm inviolate unto themselves.This, however, is something that only those who have grown up sitting on good sofas will appreciate. It's like growing up reading good books or listening to good music. One good sofa breeds another good sofa; one bad sofa breeds another bad sofa. That's how it goes.There are people who drive luxury cars, but have only second- or third-rate sofas in their homes. I put little trust in such people. An expensive automobile may well be worth its price, but it's only an expensive automobile. If you have the money, you can buy it, anyone can buy it. Procuring a good sofa, on the other hand, requires style and experience and philosophy. It takes money, yes, but you also need a vision of the superior sofa. That sofa among sofas.”

“Please do, however, allow me to deliver one very personal message. It is something that I always keep in mind while I am writing fiction. I have never gone so far as to write it on a piece of paper and paste it to the wall: Rather, it is carved into the wall of my mind, and it goes something like this:"Between a high, solid wall and an egg that breaks against it, I will always stand on the side of the egg."Yes, no matter how right the wall may be and how wrong the egg, I will stand with the egg. Someone else will have to decide what is right and what is wrong; perhaps time or history will decide. If there were a novelist who, for whatever reason, wrote works standing with the wall, of what value would such works be?”

“We were nearly boundless zeros, just pitiful little beings swept from one kind of oblivion to another.”

“No sooner had one season slipped out the door than the next came in by another door. A person might scramble to the closing door and call out, Hey, wait a minute, there’s one last thing I forgot to tell you. But nobody would be there any more. The door shuts tight. Already another season is in the room, sitting in a chair, striking a match to light a cigarette. Anything you forgot to mention, the stranger says, you might as well go ahead and tell me, and if it works out, I’ll get the message through.Nah, it’s okay, you say, it was nothing really. And all around, the sound of the wind. Nothing, really. A season’s died, that’s all.”

“The most frightening thing in the world is our own self.”

“You can't go anywhere if you resign yourself to being attacked.”

“Narrow minds devoid ofimagination. Intolerance, theories cut off from reality, empty terminology, usurpedideals, inflexible systems. Those are the things that really frighten me. What I absolutelyfear and loathe. Of course it's important to know what's right and what's wrong.Individual errors in judgment can usually be corrected. As long as you have the courageto admit mistakes, things can be turned around. But intolerant, narrow minds with noimagination are like parasites that transform the host, change form, and continue tothrive. They're a lost cause”

“If you really want to know what's happening here and now, you've got to use your own eyes and your own judgment.”

“Những chuyện kiểu như "ờ, được, mình sẽ làm ra cả một thế giới mới" hay "ờ, mình sẽ tạo ra một cái tôi hoàn toàn mới"... đại loại thế, không ai làm được đâu.”

“Đó không phải là loại cảm xúc mạnh mẽ, bản năng khiến hai con người như bị sốc điện ngay từ lần đầu gặp gỡ, mà là một cái gì thầm lặng hơn, êm ả hơn, như hai tia sáng nhỏ nhoi cùng trôi trong bóng tối mênh mông, ngày một tiến lại gần nhau mà chính mình không biết”

“In parallel with their ceaseless consumption of time, people would ceaselessly reproduce time that they had mentally adjusted.”

“Kakvu muziku slušate?""Volim Baha.""Koja vam se kompozicija posebno sviđa?""Od BWV846 do BWV893."Tengo malo razmisli, pa reče: "Dobro temperovani klavir, prvi i drugi deo.""Da.""Zašto odgovaraš brojevima?""Tako se lakše pamti.”

“Aomame said, “It’s the same with menus and men and just about anything else: we think we’re choosing things for ourselves, but in fact we may not be choosing anything. It could be that everything’s decided in advance and we pretend we’re making choices. Free will may be an illusion. I often think that.”

“That is why it is necessary for you to fasten your feelings to the earth—firmly, like attaching an anchor to a balloon.”

“To share the joy of that conceptual freedom with someone was a wonderful thing.”

“Was it Aristotle who said the human soul is composed of reason, will, and desire?”“No, that was Plato. Aristotle and Plato were as different as Mel Tormé and Bing Crosby. In any case, things were a lot simpler in the old days,” Komatsu said. “Wouldn’t it be fun to imagine reason, will, and desire engaged in a fierce debate around a table?”

“Every art and every inquiry, and similarly every action and pursuit, is thought to aim at some good; and for this reason the good has rightly been declared to be that at which all things aim.”

“The dowager said, “I was tremendously struck by what you said at the gym the other day. About powerlessness. About how powerlessness inflicts such damage on people. Do you remember?” Aomame nodded. “I do.” “Do you mind if I ask you a question? It will be a very direct question. To save time.” “Ask whatever you like,” Aomame said. “Are you a feminist, or a lesbian?” Aomame blushed slightly and shook her head. “I don’t think so. My thoughts on such matters are strictly my own. I’m not a doctrinaire feminist, and I’m not a lesbian.”

“There’s nothing wrong with not looking like something. It just means you don’t fit the stereotype yet.”

“And it was the kind of thing that loses the most important nuances when reduced to words. He had never told anyone about it, and he probably never would.”

“You like sequences,” Fuka-Eri asked, without a question mark. “To me, they’re like Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier. I never get tired of them.”

“Tengo made a point of asking people how old they were at the time of their first memory.”

“Do you know what ‘Sputnik’ means in Russian? ‘Travelling companion’. I looked it up in a dictionary not long ago. Kind of a strange coincidence if you think about it. I wonder why the Russians gave their satellite that strange name. It’s just a poor little lump of metal, spinning around the Earth.”

“She came to her own private conclusion, which she tucked away in a drawer, and silently went back to her meal.”

“What season?” I asked. “A delayed adolescence, I guess. When I get up in the morning and see my face in the mirror, it looks like someone else’s. If I’m not careful, I might end up left behind.”

“As Pushkin put it: He had no itch to dig for glories deep in the dirt that time has laid.”

“I had no idea what to say. A silence descended on us as sudden as the instant fresh oil is poured into a large frying pan.”

“I spend more time being confused than not,” I answered.”

“Her repertoire ran mainly from the late Romantics, Schumann and Mendelssohn, to Poulenc, Ravel, Bartók, and Prokofiev.”

“Sumire frowned and sighed. “If they invent a car that runs on stupid jokes, you could go far.”

“Okay, consider this. Say you’re going to go on a long journey with someone by car. And the two of you will take turns driving. Which type of person would you choose? One who’s a good driver, but inattentive, or an attentive person who’s not such a good driver?”

“Astrud Gilberto sang an old bossa nova song. “Take me to Aruanda,” she sang. I closed my eyes, and the clatter of the cups and saucers sounded like the roar of a far-off sea. Aruanda—what’s it like there?”

“I’m not asking for sympathy, but it would be nice if you could give me a bit more in the way of a response. Other than those cold interjections of yours—ohs and ums. How about a conjunction? A conjunction would be nice. A yet or a but.”

“Me lleva tiempo evocar su rostro. Y conforme vayan pasando los años, más tiempo me llevará. Es triste, pero cierto. Al principio era capaz de recordarla en cinco segundos, luego éstos se convirtieron en diez, en treinta segundos, en un minuto. El tiempo fue alargándose paulatinamente, igual que las sombras en el crepúsculo. Puede que pronto su rostro desaparezca absorbido por las tinieblas de la noche. Sí, es cierto. Mi memoria se está distanciando del lugar donde se hallaba Naoko. De la misma forma que se está distanciando del lugar donde estaba mi yo de entonces.”

“They both loved piano music and were convinced that Beethoven’s Sonata No. 32 was the absolute pinnacle in the history of music. And that Wilhelm Backhaus’s unparalleled performance of the sonata for Decca set the interpretive standard.”