Immortal fragments from Murakami's Kafka on the shore

She and I are in two separate worlds, divided by an invisible border

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 avoid the verbose.

As long as there is such a thing as time, everybody's damaged at the end, changed into something else. It always happens, sooner or later.

I have swallowed a rain cloud whole.

Somewhere I don't know about, something is happening to time.

My lips are tightly sealed. Words are asleep in a corner of time.

Can nothingness increase?

Beyond the edge of the world, there is a space where emptiness and substance nearly overlap, where past and future form a continuous, endless loop.

In a place where time isn't important, neither is memory.