The best musicians transpose consciousness into sound; painters do the same for color and shape. Haruki Murakami More Quotes by Haruki Murakami More Quotes From Haruki Murakami two people can sleep in the same bed and still be alone when they close their eyes Haruki Murakami eye sleep life I'm still not sure I made the right choice when I told my wife about the bakery attack.But then,it might not have been a question of right or wrong. Which is to say that wrong choices can produce right results, and vice versa. I myself have adopted the position that,in fact, we never choose anything at all. Things happen. Or not. Haruki Murakami wife choices vices The unwaking world was as hushed as a deep forest. Haruki Murakami forests world This is the extent of his knowledge of the sea: it was very big, it was salty, and fish lived there. Haruki Murakami fishes bigs sea Symbolism and meaning are two separate things. I think she found the right words by bypassing procedures like meaning and logic. She captured words in a dream, like delicately catching hold of a butterfly’s wings as it flutters around. Artists are those who can evade the verbose. Haruki Murakami butterfly artist dream Well, think of what I’m doing to you right now. For me I’m the self, and you’re the object. For you, of course, it’s the exact opposite—you’re the self to you and I’m the object. And by exchanging self and object, we can project ourselves onto the other and gain self-consciousness. Volitionally.” “I still don’t get it, but it sure feels good.” “That’s the whole idea,” the girl said. Haruki Murakami girl self thinking Perhaps most people in the world aren’t trying to be free, Kafka. They just think they are. It’s all an illusion. If they really were set free, most people would be in a real pickle. You’d better remember that. People actually prefer not being free? Haruki Murakami real people thinking An empty shell. Those were the first words that sprang to mind. .... Something incredibly important - .. - had disappeared from Miu for good. Leaving behind not life, but its absence Haruki Murakami leaving important mind Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness? Haruki Murakami sputnik lonely loneliness pulled into my convenient neighborhood fast food restaurant. I ordered shrimp salad, onion rings, and a beer. The shrimp were straight out of the freezer, the onion rings soggy. Looking around the place, though, I failed to spot a single customer banging on a tray or complaining to a waitress. So I shut up and finished my food. Expect nothing, get nothing. Haruki Murakami shrimp complaining beer Huge organizations and me don't get along. They're too inflexible, waste too much time, and have too many stupid people. Haruki Murakami organization stupid people I never trust people with no appetite. It's like they're always holding something back on you. Haruki Murakami appetite never-trust people If writing novels is like planting a forest, then writing short stories is more like planting a garden. The two processes complement each other, creating a complete landscape that I treasure. The green foliage of the trees casts a pleasant shade over the earth, and the wind rustles the leaves, which are sometimes dyed a brilliant gold. Meanwhile, in the garden, buds appear on the flowers, and colorful petals attract bees and butterflies, reminding us of the subtle transition from one season to the next. Haruki Murakami butterfly flower writing Her voice was like a line from an old black-and-white Jean-Luc Godard movie, filtering in just beyond the frame of my consciousness. Haruki Murakami black-and-white lines voice My biggest faults is that the faults I was born with grow bigger each year. It's like I was raising chickens inside me. The chickens lay eggs and the eggs hatch into other chickens, which then lay eggs. Is this any way to live a life? What with all these faults I've got going, I have to wonder. Sure, I get by. But in the end, that's not the question, is it? Haruki Murakami way-to-live eggs years One of these days they'll be making a film where the whole human race gets wiped out in a nuclear war, but everything works out in the end. Haruki Murakami work-out race war I do feel that I’ve managed to make something I could maybe call my world…over time…little by little. And when I’m inside it, to some extent, I feel kind of relieved. But the very fact I felt I had to make such a world probably means that I’m a weak person, that I bruise easily, don’t you think? And in the eyes of society at large, that world of mine is a puny little thing. It’s like a cardboard house: a puff of wind might carry it off somewhere. Haruki Murakami eye mean thinking Forgive me for stating the obvious, but the world is made up of all kinds of people. Haruki Murakami forgive-me forgiving people I wondered if she was trying to convey something to me, something she could not put into words - something prior to words that she could not grasp within herself and which therefore had no hope of ever turning into words. Haruki Murakami no-hope ifs trying Something inside me had dropped away, and nothing came in to fill the cavern. Haruki Murakami norwegian-wood caverns
