Về chuyện viết.
“tại sao em viết?” “vì em không vui.” “tại sao em không vui?” “…” “anh không biết vì sao em không vui. nhưng đừng ngừng viết.” similar talks everywhere. shit happens when I write to avoid life, and writings make my living.
sometimes people put up walls, not to keep others out, but to see who cares...– Banana Yoshimoto - Kitchen
“Càng yêu ta càng thấy: có tình yêu thì khó mà mất tình thì quá dễ. Hôm qua mới...– Trịnh Công Sơn (1996)
Under the spreading chestnut tree I sold you and you sold me– George Orwell (Nineteen eighty-four)
I was lying in my bed this morning and all of a sudden I got this really sharp...– Hayley Williams (via imaginaryenemy-)
If you remember me, then I don’t care if everyone else forgets.– — Haruki Murakami (Kafka on the Shore)
Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.– Haruki Murakami (via wordsfirst)
I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I...– Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami (via accronym)
I realize full well how hard it must be to go on living alone in a place from...– Haruki Murakami - The Wind Up Bird Chronicle (via suziheardasound)
“I always feel like I’m struggling to become someone else. Like I’m trying to find a new place, grab hold of a new life, a new personality. I guess it’s part of growing up, yet it’s also an attempt to reinvent myself. By Becoming a different me, I could free myself of everything. I seriously believed I could escape myself-as long as I made the effort. But I always hit a dead end. No matter where I...
Is it possible, finally, for one human being to achieve perfect understanding of...– Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (via realitycoma)
Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I’m gazing at a distant star. It’s...– Haruki Murakami (South Of The Border, West Of The Sun)
…no truth can cure the sadness we feel from losing a loved one. No truth, no...– Toru Watanabe, Norwegian Wood (via bookwormlily)
“Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That’s part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that’s where I imagine it - there’s a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once...