Murakami Men Without Women Quotes

Like dry ground welcoming the rain, he let the solitude, silence, and loneliness soak in.

Whether you want to or not. But the place you return to is always slightly different from the place you left. That’s the rule. It can never be exactly the same.” A

So in the end maybe that’s the challenge: to look inside your own heart as perceptively and seriously as you can, and to make peace with what you find there. If we hope to truly see another person, we have to start by looking within ourselves.” Takatsuki

You are a pastel-colored Persian carpet, and loneliness is a Bordeaux wine stain that won’t come out

Music has that power to revive memories, sometimes so intensely that they hurt. But

If you don’t know what you’re looking for, it’s not easy to look for it.” Erika

When I should have felt real pain, I stifled it. I didn’t want to take it on, so I avoided facing up to it. Which is why my heart is so empty now.

There were times he thought it would have been far better to never have known. Yet he continued to return to his core principle: that, in every situation, knowledge was better than ignorance. However agonizing, it was necessary to confront the facts. Only through knowing could a person become strong.

One day, I lost sight of her. I happened to glance away for a moment, and when I turned back, she had disappeared.

Tobacco’s a killer,” Kafuku said. “Being alive is a killer, if you think about it,” Misaki said.

I need to learn not just to forget but to forgive.

When I thought of how I’d been living, how I’d been approaching life, it was all so trite, so miserably pointless. Unimaginative middle-class rubbish, and I wanted to gather it all up and stuff it away in some drawer. Or else light it on fire and watch it go up in smoke (though what kind of smoke it would emit I had no idea).

Dreams are the kind of things you can—when you need to—borrow and lend out,

The scene seemed somehow divorced from reality, although reality, he knew, could at times be terribly unreal.

dry ground welcoming the rain, he let the solitude, silence, and loneliness soak in.

I’m human, after all. I was hurt. But whether it was a lot or a little I can’t say.

But there are times in this world when it’s not enough just not to do the wrong thing

Still, when you get to a certain age, and have created your own lifestyle and social standing, and only then start having grave doubts about your value as a human being,

Here's what hurst the most," Kafuku said. "I didn't truly understand her--or at least some crucial part of her. And it may well end that way now that she's dead and gone. Like a small, locked safe lying at the bottom of the ocean. It hurts a lot." Tatsuki thought for a moment before speaking. "But Mr. Kafuku, can any of us ever perfectly understand another person? However much we may love them?

Some people are polite, and some are quick. Each one’s a good quality to have, but most of the time quickness trumps politeness.

All he could do was wait like this, patiently, until it grew light out and the birds awoke and began their day. All he could do was trust in the birds, in all the birds, with their wings and beaks.

That's what we all do : endlessly take the long way around.

It was as if he felt that the black symbols flowing from his brush onto the pure white paper could somehow lay bare the workings of his heart.

Women are all born with a special, independent organ that allows them to lie. This was Dr. Tokai's personal opinion. It depends on the person, he said about the kind of lies they tell, what situation they tell them in, and how the lies are told. But at a certain point in their lives, all women tell lies, and they lie about important things. They lie about unimportant things, too, but they also don't hesitate to lie about the most important things. And when they do, most women's expressions and voices don't change at all, since it's not them lysing, but this independent organ they're equipped with that's acting on its own. That's why - except for a few special cases - they can still have a clear conscience and never lose sleep over anything they say.

Then back to the stage, and the acting. The bright lights, the rehearsed lines. The applause, the falling curtain. Leaving who one was for a brief time, then returning. But the self that one returned to was never exactly the same as the self that one had left behind.

Whether you want to or not. But the place you return to is always slightly different from the place you left. That’s the rule. It can never be exactly the same.

every situation, knowledge was better than ignorance. However agonizing, it was necessary to confront the facts. Only through knowing could a person become strong.

can any of us ever perfectly understand another person? However much we may love them?

I’ve been out with lots of woman who are much prettier than her, better built, with better taste, and more intelligent. But those comparisons are meaningless.

In his life, after all, he had achieved nothing, had been totally unproductive. He couldn’t make anyone else happy, and, of course, couldn’t make himself happy. Happiness? He wasn’t even sure what that meant. He didn’t have a clear sense, either, of emotions like pain or anger, disappointment or resignation, and how they were supposed to feel. The most he could do was create a place where his heart - devoid now of any depth or weight - could be tethered, to keep it from wandering aimlessly

Here's what hurts the most," Kafuku said. "I didn't truly understand her--or at least some crucial part of her. And it may well end that way now that she's dead and gone. Like a small, locked safe lying at the bottom of the ocean. It hurts a lot." Tatsuki thought for a moment before speaking. "But Mr. Kafuku, can any of us ever perfectly understand another person? However much we may love them?

I have to somehow get connected to reality again, he thought, or else I won’t be me anymore. I’ll become a man who doesn’t exist.

So in the end maybe that’s the challenge: to look inside your own heart as perceptively and seriously as you can, and to make peace with what you find there. If we hope to truly see another person, we have to start by looking within ourselves.

The way surviving hard winters makes a tree grow stronger, the growth rings inside it tighter.” I tried to imagine growth rings inside me. But the only thing I could picture was a leftover slice of Baumkuchen cake, the kind with treelike rings inside.

I don’t want to overestimate myself. Basically I’ve been lucky. I’m simply a polite, lucky man. That might be the best way to think of it.

Crying for someone else is nothing to apologize about,” I told him. “Especially someone you care for, someone who’s passed away

I forgot my eraser,” I told her, “so if you have an extra, could you let me borrow it?” She took her eraser, broke it in two, and gave me half. And smiled broadly. Like the saying goes, in that instant I fell in love.

That’s right,” Kafuku said. “Whether you want to or not. But the place you return to is always slightly different from the place you left. That’s the rule. It can never be exactly the same.

The absence of conversation didn’t bother Kafuku. He wasn’t good at small talk. While he didn’t dislike talking to people he knew well about things that mattered, he otherwise preferred to remain silent.

Have you ever tried really hard not to love somebody too much?” “Why?” “It’s simple, really. If I love her too much, it’s painful. I can’t take it. I don’t think my heart can stand it, which is why I’m trying not to fall in love with her.” “What are you doing, exactly, so that you don’t love her too much?” “I’ve tried all kinds of things,” he said. “But it all boils down to intentionally thinking negative thoughts about her as much as I can. I mentally list as many of her defects as I can come up with—her imperfections, I should say. And I repeat these over and over in my head like a mantra, convincing myself not to love this woman more than I should.” “Has it worked?” “No, not so well.

Why a unicorn? Maybe the unicorn, too, is one of the Men Without Women. I mean, I've never seen a unicorn couple. He -- it has to be a he, right? -- is always alone, sharp horn thrust toward the sky. Maybe we should adopt him as the symbol of Men Without Women, of the loneliness we carry as our burden. Perhaps we should sew unicorn badges on our breast pockets and hats, and quietly parade down streets all over the world. No music, no flags, no ticker tape. Probably.

As with most people who are well raised, well educated, and financially secure, Dr. Tokai only thought of himself.

The world was a vast ocean with no landmarks, Kino a little boat that had lost its chart and its anchor.

But he doubted the dead could think or feel anything. In his opinion, that was ones of the great things about dying.

But the proposition that we can look into another person’s heart with perfect clarity strikes me as a fool’s game.

Having seen my love now / and said farewell / I know how very shallow my heart was of old / as if I had never before known love,

can barely recall it myself. How much did I suffer? How much pain did I go through? I wish there was a machine that could accurately measure sadness, and display it in numbers that you could record. And it would be great if that machine could fit in the palm of your hand. I think of this every time I measure the air in my tires.

Kino pulled the covers up, shut his eyes, and covered his ears with his hands. I’m not going to look, not going to listen, he told himself. But he couldn’t drown out the sound. Even if he ran to the far corners of the earth and stuffed his ears full of clay, as long as he was still alive those knocks would relentlessly track him down. It wasn’t a knocking on a door in a business hotel. It was a knocking on the door to his heart. A person couldn’t escape that sound.

Life is strange, isn’t it? You can be totally entranced by the glow of something one minute, be willing to sacrifice everything to make it yours, but then a little time passes, or your perspective changes a bit, and all of a sudden you’re shocked at how faded it appears. What was I looking at?

Yet he continued to return to his core principle: that, in every situation, knowledge was better than ignorance. However agonizing, it was necessary to confront the facts. Only through knowing could a person become strong.

It’s quite easy to become Men Without Women. You love a woman deeply, and then she goes off somewhere. That’s all it takes. Most of the time (as I’m sure you’re well aware) it’s crafty sailors who take them away. They sweet-talk them into going with them, then carry them off to Marseilles or the Ivory Coast. And there’s hardly anything we can do about it. Or else the women have nothing to do with sailors, and take their own lives. And there’s very little we can do about that, too. Not even the sailors can do a thing.

Maybe I’m trying to write about essence, rather than the truth. But writing about an essence that isn’t true is like trying to rendezvous with someone on the dark side of the moon. It’s dim and devoid of landmarks. And way too big.

It feels like somehow our hearts have become intertwined. Like when she feels something, my heart moves in tandem. Like we’re two boats tied together with rope. Even if you want to cut the rope, there’s no knife sharp enough to do it. Later

But the place you return to is always slightly different from the place you left. That’s the rule. It can never be exactly the same.

Maybe working on the little things as dutifully and honestly as we can is how we stay sane when the world is falling apart.” The

To put a finer point on it, Tokai was always a casual number-two lover, a convenient rainy-day boyfriend, or else a handy partner for a casual fling.

There were two types of drinkers: those who drank to enhance their personalities, and those who sought to rid themselves of something.

She was the type of person who could think things through on her own. So how could she fall for a nonentity like that and go to bed with him? It's still a thorn in my heart.

Because you already know what it means to be Men Without Women. You are a pastel-colored Persian carpet, and loneliness is a Bordeaux wine stain that won’t come out.

Dreams are the kind of things you can—when you need to—borrow and lend out,” I said.

Why a unicorn? Maybe the unicorn, too, is one of the Men Without Women.

In a concentration camp Pinot Noir, amateur piano performances, and sparkling conversational skills would be totally useless.

It’s simple, really. If I love her too much, it’s painful. I can’t take it. I don’t think my heart can stand it, which is why I’m trying not to fall in love with her.

This was ambiguity: holding on to an empty space between two extremes. “You were hurt, a little, weren’t you?” his wife had asked. “I’m human, after all. I was hurt,” he’d replied. But that wasn’t true. Half of it, at least, was a lie. I wasn’t hurt enough when I should have been, Kino admitted to himself. When I should have felt real pain, I stifled it. I didn’t want to take it on, so I avoided facing up to it. Which is why my heart is so empty now. The snakes have grabbed that spot and are trying to hide their coldly beating hearts there.

Имам чувството, че нейното и моето сърце са здраво свързани и ако нейното се раздвижи, дърпа и моето. Като две завързани с въже една за друга лодки. И не можеш да го прережеш, защото няма нож, който да ти свърши работа.

I can't explain it very well, but at a certain point a lot of things didn't seem like that big of a deal anymore. Like the demon had left me all of a sudden," Kafuku said. "The rage vanished. Or maybe it was never rage in the first place.

The most excruciating thing, though, had been maintaining a normal life knowing his partner’s secret—the effort it required to keep her in the dark. Smiling calmly when his heart was torn and his insides were bleeding. Behaving as if everything was fine while the two of them took care of the daily chores, chatted, made love at night. This was not something that a normal person could pull off. But Kafuku was a professional actor. Shedding his self, his flesh and blood, in order to inhabit a role was his calling. And he embraced this one with all his might. A role performed without an audience.

It's strange, isn't it?" the woman said in a pensive voice. "Everything is blowing up around us , but there are still those who care about broken lock, and others who are dutiful enough to try to fix it... But maybe that's the way it should be. Maybe working on the little things as dutifully and hostels as we can is how we stay sane when the world is falling apart.

Maybe weakness in his character, or trauma from his past. Or perhaps something in the present was causing his problem. Or maybe a combination of all those things. Whatever it was, he was trying like mad either to forget it or to numb the pain it caused, which made it necessary to drink.

In this huge world there are some beautiful, happy families where parents and children maintain a close, warm relationship—a situation about as frequent as hat tricks in soccer. I have no confidence at all that I could be one of these rare happy parents, and can’t see Tokai doing it either.

But still these days I've often wondered, Who in the world am I? And very seriously at that. If you took away my career as a plastic surgeon, & the happy environment I'm living in, & threw me out in the world, with no explanation, & with everything stripped away - what in the world would I be?

But the proposition that we can look into another person’s heart with perfect clarity strikes me as a fool’s game. I don’t care how well we think we should understand them, or how much we love them. All it can do is cause us pain. Examining your own heart, however, is another matter. I think it’s possible to see what’s in there if you work hard enough at it. So in the end maybe that’s the challenge: to look inside your own heart as perceptively and seriously as you can, and to make peace with what you find there. If we hope to truly see another person, we have to start by looking within ourselves.

I spent the whole bullet-train ride mentally reviewing my eighteen years and realised that almost everything that had happened to me was pretty embarrassing. I’m not exaggerating. I didn’t want to remember any of it - it was so pathetic. The more I thought about my life up to then, the more I hated myself.

Try as I might, I couldn’t remember. Life is strange, isn’t it? You can be totally entranced by the glow of something one minute, be willing to sacrifice everything to make it yours, but then a little time passes, or your perspective changes a bit, and all of a sudden you’re shocked at how faded it appears.

Kino was usually careful to keep his distance from any sort of entanglement. Among human emotions, nothing was worse than jealousy and pride, and Kino had had a number of awful experiences because of one or the other. It struck him at times that there was something about him that stirred up the dark side in other people.

That’s what it’s like to lose a woman. And at a certain time, losing one woman means losing all women. That’s how we become Men Without Women. We lose Percy faith, Francis Lai, and 101 Strings. And ammonites and coelacanths. And we lose her beautiful back. But all of that has vanished. All that remains is an old broken piece of eraser, and the far-off sound of the sailor’s dirge. And the unicorn beside the fountain, his lonely horn aimed at the sky. I hope that M is in heaven now – or somewhere like it. And it would be nice if her thoughts occasionally turn to me. But maybe that’s asking too much. I pray that, even if I’m not part of it, M is happy and at peace, with music playing on into eternity. As one of the Men Without Women, I pray for this with all my heart. At this point prayer seems like the only thing I can do. Probably.

That’s what we all do: endlessly take the long way around. I wanted to tell her this, but kept silent. Blurting out aphorisms like that was another one of my problems.

Yesterday Is two days before tomorrow, The day after two days ago.

Not being able to find the right words at crucial times is one of my many problems

When I soak in a bath for a long time, all kinds of good ideas suddenly come to me,” Kitaru said

Whether you want to or not. But the place you return to is always slightly different from the place you left. That’s the rule. It can never be exactly the same

It's strange, isn't it?" the woman said in a pensive voice. "Everything is blowing up around us, but there are still those who care about a broken lock, and others who are dutiful enough to try to fix it... But maybe that's the way it should be. Maybe working on the little things as dutifully and honestly as we can is how we stay sane when the world is falling apart.

You are a pastel-colored Persian carpet, and loneliness is a Bordeaux wine stain that won’t come out. Loneliness is brought over from France, the pain of the wound from the Middle East.

Tokai couldn’t bring himself to want children like that. His friends all insisted that, when all was said and done, having children was a wonderful thing, but he never could buy this sales pitch. They probably just wanted Tokai to shoulder the same burden they dragged around. They selfishly were convinced that everyone else in the world should be obliged to suffer the way they did.

Tell you the truth, I don’t know what’s so weird about my way of thinking. To me, it seems like I’m just doing ordinary things in an ordinary way. But people tell me that almost everything I do is weird

That’s what it’s like to lose a woman. And at a certain time, losing one woman means losing all women. That’s how we become Men Without Women. We lose Percy faith, Francis Lai, and 101 Strings. And ammonites and coelacanths. And we lose her beautiful back. But all of that has vanished. All that remains is an old broken piece of eraser, and the far-off sound of the sailor’s dirge. And the unicorn beside the fountain, his lonely horn aimed at the sky. I hope that M is in heaven now – or somewhere like it. And it would be nice if her thoughts occasionally turn to me. But maybe that’s asking too much. I pray that, even if I’m not part of it, M is happy and at peace, with music playing on into eternity. As one of the Men Without Women, I pray for this with all my heart. At this point prayer seems like the only thing I can do. Probably. - Men Without Women

wish there was a machine that could accurately measure sadness, and display it in numbers that you could record. And it would be great if that machine could fit in the palm of your hand. I think of this every time I measure the air in my tires.

Our actions aren’t based on specifics like that—we can’t pinpoint why we do what we do. Relationships between people, especially between men and women, operate on—what should I say—a more general level. More vague, more self-centered, more pathetic.

At the time I felt as if every night I, too, were gazing out of a porthole at the moon made of ice. A transparent, eight-inch-thick, frozen moon. But no one was beside me. I watched the moon alone, unable to share its cold beauty with anyone. Yesterday Is two days before tomorrow, The day after two days ago. I hope that in Denver (or some other faraway town) Kitaru is happy. If it's too much to ask that he's happy, I hope at least that today he has his health, and all his needs met. For no one knows what kind of dreams tomorrow will bring.

He had fallen deeply in love with her when they first met (he was twenty-nine), and this feeling had remained unchanged until the day she died (he had been forty-nine then). He hadn’t slept with another woman in all their years of marriage. The urge had never arisen, although he had received his fair share of opportunities

I think Kitaru is honestly seeking something,” I went on. “In his own way, at his own pace, very genuinely and directly. It’s just that I don’t think he’s grasped yet what it is. That’s why he can’t make any progress, and that applies to all kinds of things. If you don’t know what you’re looking for, it’s not easy to look for it.

But the movement of time seemed not to be fixed properly. The bloody weight of desire and the rusty anchor of remorse were blocking its normal flow. Time was not an arrow flying in a straight line. The continuing rain, the confused hands of the clock, the birds still fast asleep, a faceless postal worker silently sorting through postcards, his wife's lovely breasts bouncing violently in the air, something obstinately tapping on the window. As if luring him deeper onto a suggestive maze, this ever-regular beat. Tap tap, tap, tap, then once more - tap tap. ''Don't look away, look right at it,'' someone whispered in his ear. ''This is what your heart looks like.

Examining your own heart, however, is another matter. I think it’s possible to see what’s in there if you work hard enough at it. So in the end maybe that’s the challenge: to look inside your own heart as perceptively and seriously as you can, and to make peace with what you find there. If we hope to truly see another person, we have to start by looking within ourselves.

But there was no way I could find my former girlfriend's husband. I don't know his name, or the place where he lives. Perhaps he had already lost his name and place. He was, after all, the world's loneliest man. When I go on walks I like to sit in front of the statue of a unicorn, and as I gaze at the cold water in the fountain, I think about this man. And I imagine what it means to be the loneliest man on earth. I already know what it is to be the second loneliest man on earth. But I still don't know what it is to be the loneliest. A deep gulf separates the second and the first loneliest on earth. Most likely. Deep, and wide, too. The bottom is heaped high with the corpses of birds who have tried, and failed, to traverse it. Suddenly one day you become Men Without Women.

I’m not exaggerating. I didn’t want to remember any of it—it was so pathetic. The more I thought about my life up to then, the more I hated myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t have a few good memories—I did. A handful of happy experiences. But if you added them up, the shameful, painful memories far outnumbered the others. When I thought of how I’d been living, how I’d been approaching life, it was all so trite, so miserably pointless. Unimaginative middle-class rubbish, and I wanted to gather it all up and stuff it away in some drawer. Or else light it on fire and watch it go up in smoke (though what kind of smoke it would emit I had no idea). Anyway, I wanted to get rid of it all and start a new life in Tokyo with a clean slate as a brand-new person. Try out the new possibilities of a new me.

Kafuku hadn’t understood why she felt the need to sleep with other men. And he still didn’t. Their relationship as a married couple and as life partners had been excellent from the beginning. When time permitted, they talked with passion and honesty about a wide variety of subjects, and tried to trust one another. He had thought they were a most compatible pair, both spiritually and sexually. Others in their circle also regarded them as an ideal match

But I'm talking about my dead wife and me. I don't want to jump to general principles so easily.'' ''From what I can gather,'' Takatsuki said after a long silence, ''your wife was a wonderful woman. I am convinced of that even as I realize my knowledge of her is no more than a hundredth of yours. If nothing else, you should feel grateful for having been able to spend twenty years of your life with such a person. But the proposition that we can look into another person's heart with perfect clarity strikes me as a fool's game. I don't care how well we think we should understand them, or how much we love them. All it can do is cause us pain. Examining your own heart, however, is another matter. I think it's possible to see what's in there if you work hard enough at it. So in the end maybe that's the challenge: to look inside your own heart as perceptively and seriously as you can, and to make peace with what you find there. If we hope to truly see another person, we have to start by looking within ourselves.

It’s like, we graduate from college, get married, we’re this wonderful married couple everybody’s happy about, we have the typical two kids, put ’em in the good old Denenchofu elementary school, go out to the Tama River banks on Sundays, ‘Ob-la-di, ob-la-da’…I’m not saying that kinda life’s bad. But I wonder, y’know, if life should really be that easy, that comfortable. It might be better to go our separate ways for a while, and if we find out that we really can’t get along without each other, then we get back together.

Kafuku had reached the conclusion that most female drivers fell into one of two categories: either they were a little too aggressive or a little too timid. Luckily—and we should all be grateful for this—the latter were far more common. Generally speaking, women were more cautious than men behind the wheel. Of course, that caution was nothing to complain about. Yet their driving style tended to irritate others on the road. Most of the aggressive women, on the other hand, seemed convinced they were great drivers. In most cases, they showed their timid sisters nothing but scorn, and were proud that they, at least, weren’t like that. They were oblivious to the gasps and slammed brakes that accompanied their sudden and daring lane changes, and to the less-than-complimentary words directed at them by their fellow drivers.

You are a totally pathetic, historical example of the phallocentric, to put it mildly." "A pathetic, historical example," Oshima repeats, obviously impressed. By his tone of voice he seems to like the sound of that phrase. "In other words you're a typical sexist, patriarchic male," the tall one pipes in, unable to conceal her irritation. "A patriarchic male," Oshima again repeats. The short one ignores this and goes on. "You're employing the status quo and the cheap phallocentric logic that supports it to reduce the entire female gender to second-class citizens, to limit and deprive women of the rights they're due. You're doing this unconsciously rather than deliberately, but that makes you even guiltier. You protect vested male interests and become inured to the pain of others, and don't even try to see what evil your blindness causes women and society. I realize that problems with restrooms and card catalogs are mere details, but if we don't begin with the small things we'll never be able to throw off the cloak of blindness that covers our society. Those are the principles by which we act." "That's the way every sensible woman feels," the tall one adds, her face expressionless. [...] A frozen silence follows. "At any rate, what you've been saying is fundamentally wrong," Oshima says, calmly yet emphatically. "I am most definitely not a pathetic, historical example of a patriarchic male." "Then explain, simply, what's wrong with what we've said," the shorter woman says defiantly. "Without sidestepping the issue or trying to show off how erudite you are," the tall one adds. "All right. I'll do just that—explain it simply and honestly, minus any sidestepping or displays of brilliance," Oshima says. "We're waiting," the tall one says, and the short one gives a compact nod to show she agrees. "First of all, I'm not a male," Oshima announces. A dumbfounded silence follows on the part of everybody. I gulp and shoot Oshima a glance. "I'm a woman," he says. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't joke around," the short woman says, after a pause for breath. Not much confidence, though. It's more like she felt somebody had to say something. Oshima pulls his wallet out of his chinos, takes out the driver's license, and passes it to the woman. She reads what's written there, frowns, and hands it to her tall companion, who reads it and, after a moment's hesitation, gives it back to Oshima, a sour look on her face. "Did you want to see it too?" Oshima asks me. When I shake my head, he slips the license back in his wallet and puts the wallet in his pants pocket. He then places both hands on the counter and says, "As you can see, biologically and legally I am undeniably female. Which is why what you've been saying about me is fundamentally wrong. It's simply impossible for me to be, as you put it, a typical sexist, patriarchic male." "Yes, but—" the tall woman says but then stops. The short one, lips tight, is playing with her collar. "My body is physically female, but my mind's completely male," Oshima goes on. "Emotionally I live as a man. So I suppose your notion of being a historical example may be correct. And maybe I am sexist—who knows. But I'm not a lesbian, even though I dress this way. My sexual preference is for men. In other words, I'm a female but I'm gay. I do anal sex, and have never used my vagina for sex. My clitoris is sensitive but my breasts aren't. I don't have a period. So, what am I discriminating against? Could somebody tell me?