Milena

“Summer wouldn't be too bad... but my mother died in the summer. July. I can remember it so well. Everything should have been warm and alive, but summer that year was sadder than I'd ever thought it could be. The sight of green leaves made me choke up with tears. There was nothing I could do.”
― Jun'ichirō Tanizaki, Some Prefer Nettles

“Who knew that life was full of such surprises?”
― Osamu Dazai, The Beggar Student

“Kiedy udawałem przedwcześnie dojrzałego, ludzie zaczęli plotkować, że jestem przedwcześnie dojrzały. Kiedy udawałem lenia, ludzie opowiadali, że jestem leniem. Kiedy udawałem, że nie potrafię pisać powieści, ogłaszali, że nie potrafię pisać. Kiedy udawałem, że kłamię, ludzie mówili, że jestem kłamcą. Kiedy udawałem, że jestem bogaty, ludzie opowiadali, że jestem bogaczem. Kiedy udawałem obojętność, ludzie mówili, że jestem zimnym draniem. Ale kiedy naprawdę było mi ciężko i mimo woli wydawałem jęki bólu, ludzie opowiadali, że udaję cierpienie.
Nic tu się nie zgadza.”
― Osamu Dazai, The Setting Sun

“As hurried footsteps clattered past the gate, a pair of large clogs hung suspended from the sky. When the footsteps grew distant, the clogs slipped quietly away and vanished. Daisuke awoke.
Turning to the head of his bed, he noticed a single camellia blossom that had fallen to the floor. He was certain he had heard it drop during the night; the sound had resounded in his ears like a rubber ball bounced off the ceiling. Although he thought this might be explained by the silence of the night, just to make sure that all was well with him, he had placed his right hand over his heart. Then, feeling the blood pulsating correctly at the edge of his ribs, he had fallen asleep.
For some time, he gazed vacantly at the color of the large blossom, which was nearly as large as a baby's head. Then, as if he had just thought of it, he put his hand to his heart and once again began to study its beat. It had become a habit with him lately to listen to his heart's pulsation while lying in bed. As usual, the palpitation was calm and steady. With his hand still on his chest, he tried to imagine the warm, crimson blood flowing leisurely to this beat. This was life, he thought. Now, at this very moment, he held in his grasp the current of life as it flowed by. To his palm it felt like the ticking of a clock. But it was more, it was a kind of alarm that summoned him to death. If it were possible to live without hearing this bell--if only his heart did not measure out time as well as blood--then how carefree he would be! How thoroughly he would savor life! But--and here Daisuke shuddered involuntarily. He was a man so attached to life that he could scarcely bear to picture his heart calmly beating to the coursing of his blood. There were times when, lying in bed, he would place his hand just below his left breast and wonder, what if someone gave me one good blow with a hammer here. Although he lived in sound health, there were instances when his consciousness awakened to the indisputable fact of his being alive as a near-miracle of good fortune.
Lifting his hand from his heart, he picked up the newspaper beside his pillow. He reached from beneath the covers and with both hands spread out the paper. On the left was a picture of a man stabbing a woman. He quickly averted his gaze and turned to another page where the school dispute was written up in large print. Daisuke read the article for a while but soon let the paper slip from languid hands onto the covers. Drawing on a cigarette, he slid himself about six inches from the bed, picked up the camellia from the floor mat, and turning it over, drew it to the tip of his nose. His mouth, mustache, and nose were all but hidden in the flower. The smoke, mingling with the petals and stamens, curled out thickly. Then placing the flower on the white sheet, he got up and went to the bathroom.”
― Natsume Sōseki, And Then