Good ones like her are hard to find. And she's a lot more fragile than she looks.

Actually getting closer to a metaphorical truth? Or metaphorically getting closer to an actual truth?

I want to believe you, but if that's true, I just don't get it. Why does loving somebody mean you have to hurt them just as much? I mean, if that's the way it goes, what's the point of loving someone?

It isn't a question of intelligence. I'm not all that bright, I just have my own way of thinking. That's why people get disgusted with me. They accuse me of always bringing up things that are better left alone. If you try to use your head to think about things, people don't want to have anything to do with you.

George Orwell is half journalist, half fiction writer. I'm 100 percent fiction writer... I don't want to write messages. I want to write good stories. I think of myself as a political person, but I don't state my political messages to anybody.

It was a small room with dim light coming in the window, reminiscent of old Polish films.

It means leaving behind your physical body. Leaving the cage of your physical flesh, breaking free of the chains, and letting pure logic soar. Giving a natural life to logic. That's the core of free thought.

Once you start lying to the public, you have to keep lying. It never ends. It's not easy, either psychologically or practically, to keep tweaking the truth to make it all fit together. If one person who's in on the plan makes one little slip, everybody could be done for.

I always used to think i'd like to stay 17 or 18 if I could. But not any more. I'm not a teenager anymore. I've got a sense of responsibility now. I'm not the same person I was when we used to hang out together. I'm 20 now. And I have to pay the price to go on living.

You don't get it, do you? Person A understands Person B because the time is right for that to happen, not because Person B wants to be understood by Person A.

Strangely transparent, they seemed like windows to a world beyond, but however long I peered into there depths, there was nothing I could see.

He is one of those unidentifiable people who inhabit the city at night. Mari.

I'm scared, Eri. If I do something wrong, or say something wrong, I'm scared it will wreck everything and our relationship will vanish forever.

When asked Was the model for Midori a character in Norwegian Wood modeled after your wife?

At this point a new feeling started to well up in me—nothing as profound as a feeling of pride, but at least a certain sense of completion. A personal feeling of happiness and relief that I had accepted something risky and still had the strength to endure it.

Results aside, the ability to have complete faith in another human being is one of the finest qualities a person can possess.

I turned to run, but I didn't actually take a step, even though I wanted to. That wasn't the way I was raised. My mother taught me that if you knock on a door, you have to wait there until someone answers.

Since I'm a novelist I'm the opposite of you - I believe that what's most important is what cannot be measured. I'm not denying your way of thinking, but the greater part of people's lives consist of things that are unmeasurable, and trying to change all these to something measurable is realistically impossible.

Everyone who has something is afraid of losing it, and people with nothing are worried they'll forever have nothing. Everyone is the same.

I look around me sometimes and I get sick to my stomach. Why the hell don't these bastards do something? I wonder. They don't do a fucking thing, and then they moan about it.

Things can be seen better in the darkness," he said, as if he had just seen into her mind. "But the longer you spend in the dark, the harder it becomes to return to the world aboveground where the light is. You have to call a stop to it at some point.

From now on, little by little, you must prepare yourself to face death. If you devote all of your future energy to living, you will not be able to die well. You must begin to shift gears, a little at a time. Living and dying are, in a sense, of equal value.

I hear things. Not sounds, but thick slabs of silence being dragged through the dark.

Better to know a little, I figure, than nothing at all.

The way surviving hard winters makes a tree grows stronger, the growth rings inside it tighter.

Why don't you ever say anything unless you're answering a question?

You let something out of the bag before yourself knew what it was all about.

Becoming a different person might be hard, but taking on a different name is a cinch.

When something bothered me, I didn’t talk with anyone about it. I thought it over all by myself, came to a conclusion, and took action alone. Not that I really felt lonely. I thought that’s just the way things are. Human beings, in the final analysis, have to survive on their own.

As you may know, in this Town, memory is unreliable and uncertain. There are things we can remember and things we cannot remember.

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.

I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.

In long-distance running the only opponent you have to beat is yourself, the way you used to be.

It's like a kid standing at the window watching the rain.

Better not to think at all than to think halfway.

Sometimes our memory betray us.

Of course there are teachers who can teach a subject, in a set order, using predetermined phrases, but there aren't many who can adjust their teaching to the abilities and tendencies of their pupils and explain things in their own individual way. Maybe hardly any at all.

The music world is where child prodigies go to die.

He couldn't change my mind about him, though. I went on loving him just the same, and I could never be interested in anyone else.

Actually, I'm extremely dissatisfied with being who I am. It's nothing to do with my looks or abilities or status or any of that. It simply has to do with being me. The situation strikes me as grossly unfair.

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

Not prejudging things, listening to what's going on, keeping your ears, heart, and mind open.

For a fifteen-year-old who doesn't even shave yet, you're sure carrying a lot of baggage around.

I'm an average person. Is just that I like reading.

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.

If the boat they were riding in was plunging over the falls upside down, there was nothing to do but fall with it. Tebngo could struggle all he wanted to at this point, and it would do nothing to change the flow of the river.

There's something about those secrets that only the deceased person can rightly understand. Something that can't be explained, no matter how hard you try. They're what the dead person has to take with him to his grave. Like a valuable piece of luggage.

Probably is a world you my find south of the border. But never, ever west of the sun.

Even from whatever miserable experience you might have, there is something to be learned.