Yu

“Nothing happens while you live. The scenery changes, people come in and go out, that's all. There are no beginnings. Days are tacked on to days without rhyme or reason, an interminable, monotonous addition. From time to time you make a semi-total: you say: I've been travelling for three years, I've been in Bouville for three years. Neither is there any end: you never leave a woman, a friend, a city in one go. And then everything looks alike: Shanghai, Moscow, Algiers, everything is the same after two weeks. There are moments—rarely—when you make a landmark, you realize that you're going with a woman, in some messy business. The time of a flash. After that, the procession starts again, you begin to add up hours and days: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. April, May, June.
1924, 1925, 1926.

That's living. But everything changes when you tell about life; it's a change no one notices: the
proof is that people talk about true stories. As if there could possibly be true stories; things happen one way and we tell about them in the opposite sense. You seem to start at the beginning: "It was a fine autumn evening...”
― Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

“After all, only women are able really to love.”
― Yasunari Kawabata, Snow Country

“Books are not something that you just read words in. They're also a tool to adjust your senses. When I'm not feeling well there are times that I can't take in what I read. When that happens, I try to think about what could be hindering my reading. There are books that I can take in smoothly even when I'm not feeling well. I try to think why. It might be something like mental tuning. What's important when you tune is the feeling of the paper that you're touching with your fingers and the momentary stimulation your brain receives when you turn pages...”
― Makishima Shougo

“If it be well weighed, to say that a man lieth, is as much to say, as that he is brave towards God and a coward towards men.”
― Michel de Montaigne