21 August 2020

Haruki Murakami

Highlights

Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing direction. You change direction, but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is inside you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverised bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

. . .

"I think it means", I say, "that chance encounters are what keep us going."

. . .

I'm the lonely voyager standing on the deck, and she's the sea. The sky is a blanket of grey, merging with the grey sea off on the horizon. It's hard to tell the difference between sea and sky. Between voyager and sea. Between reality and the workings of the heart.

. . .

[T]he children weren't looking at what we could see, but at something we couldn't. It was more like they were observing something rather than just looking at it. They were essentially expressionless, but overall they seemed calm, not afraid or in any pain. That's also one of the reasons I decided to just let them lie there and see how things played out. I decided, if they're not in any pain, then just let them be for a while.

. . .

There's so much we have to remember, it is a pain.

. . .

Once you're lost, you panic. You're in total despair, not knowing what to do. I hate it when that happens. Sex can be a real pain that way, 'cause when you get in the mood all you can think about is what's right under your nose — that's sex, all right.

. . .

I just spend too much time lying in front of the TV and this is what happens — my head gets full of worthless facts.

. . .

To tell you the truth, though, I don’t think I deserve your kindness. I’m trying my best to be a much better person, but things aren’t going so well. The next time we meet I hope I’ll have my act together. Whether that will happen or not, I don’t know. Thanks for last night. It was wonderful.

. . .

He has no sense that it was something he decided to do himself, or that he had a choice. He’s…totally passive. But I think in real life people are like that. It’s not so easy to make choices on your own.

. . .

“If the composition’s imperfect, why would so many pianists try to master it?”

“Good question,” Oshima says, and pauses as music fills in the silence. “I have no great explanation for it, but one thing I can say: works that have a certain imperfection to them have an appeal for that very reason — or at least they appeal to certain types of people . Just like you’re attracted to Soseki’s The Minder. There’s something in it that draws you in, more than more fully realised novels like Kokoro or Sanshiro. You discover something about that work that tugs at your heart — or maybe we should say that the work discovers you.

. . .

A dense, artistic imperfection stimulates your consciousness, keeps you alert. If I listen to some utterly perfect performance of an utterly perfect piece while I’m driving, I might want to close my eyes and die right then and there. But listening to the D major, I can feel the limits of what humans are capable of — that a certain type of perfection can only be realised through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect. And personally, I find that encouraging.

. . .

People soon get tired of things that aren’t boring, but not of what is boring. What’s that about. For me, I might have the leisure to be bored, but not to grow tired of something. Most people can’t distinguish between the two.

. . .

It’s all a question of imagination. Our responsibility begins with the power to imagine. It’s just as Yeats said: In dreams begin responsibility. Turn this on its head and you could say that where there’s no power to imagine, no responsibility can arise.

. . .

As I sit there under the shining night sky, again a violent fear takes hold of me. My heart’s pounding a mile a minute, and I can barely breathe. All these millions of stars looking down on me, and I’ve never given them more than a passing thought before. Not only the stars — how many other things haven’t I noticed in the world, things I know nothing about? I suddenly feel helpless, completely powerless. And I know I’ll never outrun that awful feeling.

. . .

You can’t look too far ahead. Do that and you’ll lose sight of what you’re doing and stumble. I’m not saying you should focus solely on the details right in front of you, mind you. You’ve got to look ahead a bit or else you’ll bump into something. You’ve got to conform to the proper order and at the same time keep an eye out for what’s ahead. That’s critical, no matter what you’re doing.

. . .

Closing your eyes isn’t going to change anything. Nothing’s going to disappear just because you can’t see what’s going on. I fact, things will be even worse the next time you open your eyes. That’s the kind of world we live in, Mr Nakata. Keep your eyes wide open. Only a coward closes his eyes. Closing your eyes and plugging up your ears won’t make time stand still.

. . .

All sorts of knowledge seeps, bit by bit, into my brain. I imagine how great it’d be to stay here as long as I wanted. There are lots of books on the shelf I’d like to read, still plenty of food. But I know I’m just passing through and will have to leave before long. This place is too calm, too natural — too complete. I don’t deserve it. At least not yet.

. . .

There’s only one kind of happiness, but misfortune comes in all shapes and sizes. It’s as Tolstoy said: happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story.

. . .

Naturally there are things we could do better, as also limits to what we can accomplish. But rest assured we’re doing our very best. I think it’d be a whole lot better if you focused on what we do well than on what we’re unable to do. Isn’t that what you’d call fair?

. . .

Narrow minds devoid of imagination. Intolerance, theories cut off from reality, empty terminology, usurped ideals, inflexible systems. Those are the things that really frighten me. What I absolutely fear and loath. Of course it’s important to know what’s right and what’s wrong. Individual errors in judgment can usually be corrected. As long as you have the courage to admit mistakes, things can be turned around. But intolerant, narrow minds with no imagination are like parasites that transform the host, change form and continue to thrive.

. . .

Look — what I’m getting at is no matter who or what you’re dealing with, people build up meaning between themselves and the things around them. The important thing is whether this comes about naturally or not. Being bright has nothing to do with it. What matters is that you see things with your own eyes.

. . .

For the sake of argument, let’s say all your choices and all your effort are destined to be a waste. You’re still very much yourself and nobody else. And you’re forging ahead, as yourself. So relax.

. . .

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.

. . .

“As long as there’s such a thing as time, everybody’s damaged in the end, changed into something else. It always happens, sooner or later.”

“But even if that happens, you’ve got to have a place you can retrace your steps to.”

“A place you can retrace your steps to?”

“A place that’s worth coming back to.”

. . .

A revelation leaps over the borders of the everyday. A life without revelation is not life at all. What you need to do is move from reason that observes to reason that acts. That’s what’s critical.

. . .

I never felt that if I went somewhere else there would be special things waiting for me. I just wanted to be somewhere else, that’s all. Anywhere but there.

. . .

But metaphors help eliminate what separates you and me.

. . .

Having an object that symbolises freedom might make a person happier than actually getting the freedom it represents.

. . .

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.

. . .

The strength I’m looking for isn’t the kind where you win or lose. I’m not after a wall that’ll repel power coming from outside. What I want is the kind of strength to be able to absorb that outside power, to stand up to it. The strength to quietly endure things — unfairness, misfortune, sadness, mistakes, misunderstandings.

. . .

The world would be a real mess if everybody was a genius. Somebody’s got to keep watch, take care of business.

. . .

We all die and disappear, but that’s because the mechanism of the world itself is built on destruction and loss. Our lives are just shadows of that guiding principle. Say the wind blows. It can be a strong, violent wind or a gentle breeze. But eventually every kind of wind dies out and disappears. Wind doesn’t have form. It’s just a movement of air.

. . .

Let a bright light shine in and melt the coldness in your heart. That’s what being tough is all about.

. . .

When you surf you learn not to fight the power of nature, even if it gets violent.