"Who can really distinguish between the sea and what’s reflected in it? Or tell the difference between the falling rain and loneliness?"
"When I grew exhausted with these visions, I stared at the scenery outside. I was abandoned in a lifeless, dried-out land. Visions had drained color from the world. Everything, every scene before me, lay flat, mere makeshift. Every object was gritty, the color of sand. The parting words of my old high school classmate haunted me. Lots of different ways to live. And lots of different ways to die. But in the end…all that remains is a desert."
Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun 199
#south of the border west of the sun