Her voice was like a line from an old black-and-white Jean-Luc Godard movie, filtering in just beyond the frame of my consciousness.
—Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart (via larmoyante)
I interviewed a woman who is terminally ill. ‘So,’ I tried to delicately ask, ‘What is it like to wake up every morning and know that you are dying?’ ‘Well,’ she responded, ‘What is it like to wake up every morning and pretend that you are not?’
When two people meet, each one is changed by the other so you got two new people. Maybe that means — hell, it’s complicated.
—John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent (via larmoyante)