If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking.

Two-thirds of earth's surface is ocean, and all we can see with the naked eye is the surface.

A gentleman is someone who does not what he wants to do, but what he should do.

Tengo could hardly believe it -- that in this frantic, labyrinth-like world, two people's hearts -- a boy's and a girl's -- could be connected, unchanged, even though they hadn't seen each other for twenty years.

The body is not the only target of rape. Violence does not always take visible form, and not all wounds gush blood.

But there are certain meanings that are lost forever the moment they are explained in words.

Stories lie deep in our souls. Stories lie so deep at the bottom of our hearts that they can bring people together on the deepest level. When I write a novel, I go into such depths.

You can hide memories, but you can't erase the history that produced them.

And everywhere, infinite options, infinite possibilities. An infinity, and at the same time, zero. We try to scoop it all up in our hands, and what we get is a handful of zero. That's the city.

Sometimes I find it too hot to run, and sometimes too cold. Or too cloudy. But I still go running. I know that if I didn't go running, I wouldn't go the next day either. It's not in human nature to take unnecessary burdens upon oneself, so one's body soon becomes disaccustomed. It mustn't do that. It's the same with writing. I write every day so that my mind doesn't become disaccustomed.

The past became a long, razor-sharp skewer that stabbed right through his heart. Silent silver pain shot through him, transforming his spine to a pillar of ice. The pain remained, unabated. He held his breath, shut his eyes tight, enduring the agony.

He did not have the sort of looks suited for stakeouts or tailing people. As much as he might try to lose himself in a crowd, he was as inconspicuous as a centipede in a coup of yogurt.

It was as if my whole life revolved around trying to judge the appropriate point in a conversation to say goodbye.

When you fall in love, the natural thing to do is give yourself to it. That's what I think. It's just a form of sincerity.

For me, it was a lonely season. Whenever I got home and took off my clothes, I felt as if any second my bones would burst through my skin. Like some unknown force inside me had taken a wrong turn somewhere, and was leading me off in some strange direction to another world.

Only where there is disillusionment and depression and sorrow does happiness arise; without the despair of loss, there is no hope.

She's got to be a ghost. First of all, she's just too beautiful. Her features are gorgeous, but it's not only that. She's so perfect I know she can't be real. She's like a person who stepped right out of a dream. The purity of her beauty gives me a feeling close to sadness -- a very natural feeling, though one that only something extraordinary could produce.

It wasn't like there was some obvious change. Actually, the problem was more a lack of change. Nothing about her had changed -- the way she spoke, her clothes, the topics she chose to talk about, her opinions -- they were all the same as before. Their relationship was like a pendulum gradually grinding to a halt, and he felt out of synch.

Ice contains no future, just the past, sealed away. As if they're alive, everything in the world is sealed up inside, clear and distinct. Ice can preserve all kinds of things that way -- cleanly, clearly. That's the essence of ice, the role it plays.

If you hurt her any more than you already have, the wound could be too deep to fix.