[b]Haruki Murakami
No matter how long you stand there examining yourself naked before a mirror, you’ll never see reflected what’s inside.[/b]
One possible solution: ignore all that.
For some anyway.
Remove everything pointless from an imperfect life and it’d lose even its imperfection.
Anyone here actually try that?
Does G get angry because it follows F in the alphabet? Does page 68 in a book start a revolution because it follows 67?
Let’s file this under, among other things, “who gives a fuck?”
But, sure, point taken.
Once she was out of the car and gone, my world was suddenly hollow and meaningless.
Or: Once she was in the car and with me, my world was suddenly hollow and meaningless. Just not as often.
The whole terrible fight occurred in the area of imagination. That is the precise location of our battlefield. It is there, that we experience our victories and defeats.
Is it just me, or is that pathetic?
I don’t go out of my way to make friends, that’s all.
Not only that but he doesn’t go out of his way to keep them either.
Or is that just me?