"But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o’clock in the morning."

- Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (via fopie)

This one’s for you, Nicole (for whom, without, I never would’ve picked up Norwegian Wood).

(via ambivalentpeaks)