1.07.2014

Favorite "Dance Dance Dance" by Haruki Murakami Quotes

"…what we seek is some kind of compensation for what we put up with.”

“The world is  full of ways and means to waste time.”

“There in the dim light, staring at the shadow on the wall, I poured out the story of my life.  It had been so long, but slowly, like melting ice, I released each circumstance. How I managed to support myself. Yet never managed to go any where. Never went anywhere, but aged all the same. How nothing touched me. And I touched nothing. How I’d lost track of what mattered. How I worked like a fool for things that didn’t. How it didn’t make a difference either way. How I was losing form. The tissues hardening, stiffening from within. Terrifying me. How I barely made connection to this place.  This place I didn’t know but had this feeling that I was part of …. This place that maybe I knew instinctively I belonged to….”

“But back then I never thought about it, and it was great just listening, didn’t matter what it was. I was a kid. I was in love. And when you’re a kid you can relate to anything, even if it’s silly.”

“With machines, the feeling is, well, more finite. It doesn’t go any further. With humans, it’s different. The feeling is always changing...
Like if you love somebody, the love is always shifting or wavering. It’s always questioning of inflating or disappearing or denying or hurting. And the thing is, you can’t do anything about it, you can’t control it.”

“At times like this, the telephone becomes a time bomb. Nobody knows when it’s going to go off. But it’s ticking away with possibility. And if you consider the phone as an object, it has this truly weird form. Ordinarily, you never notice it, but if you stare at it long enough, the sheer oddity of its form hits home. The phone either looks like it’s dying to say something, or else it’s resenting that it’s trapped inside its form. Pure idea vested within a clunky body. That’s the telephone.”

“And what about me? My peal? Would I even have one? I hardly had had anything you could call a life. A few ripples. Some rises and falls. But that’s it. Almost nothing. Nothing born of nothing. I’d loved and been loved, but I had nothing to show. It was a singularly pain, featureless landscape. I felt like I was in a video game. A surrogate Pacman, crunching blindly through a labyrinth of dotted lines. The only certainty was my death.”

“Papa should’ve been a poet, but he couldn’t write a poem if he got showered with flowers out of the clear blue sky.”

“It breathed with the lush sadness of the night.”

“Life was sinking into an abyss, bones hard as memories positioned before me.”
“The days passed. I’d resolved not to work at all. I couldn’t be bothered. The world was doing very well without me. Meanwhile I was waiting.”

“Just think about what comes before words. You owe that to the dead. As times goes one, you’ll understand. What lasts, lasts; what doesn’t, doesn’t. Time solves most things. And what time can’t solve, you have to solve yourself. Is that too much to ask?”

“People die all the time. Life is a lot more fragile than we think. So you should treat others in a way that leaves no regrets. Fairly, and if possible, sincerely. It’s too easy not to make the effort, then weep and wring your hands after the person dies. Personally, I don’t buy it.”

“The ones with no imagination are always the quickest to justify themselves.”

“The job’s rough on the nerves. Everybody hates you. The longer you’re in homicide, the more they hate you your eyes go, your complexion starts to look like shit. You wouldn’t know your own age. Even the way you talk changes. Not a healthy way to live.”

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