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As long as there’s such a thing as time, everybody’s damaged in the end, changed into something else. It always happens, sooner or later.
Haruki Murakami, from: “Kafka on the Shore” (via astonishments)
At Some Point All Summers Are Over

wwnorton:

“And did I enjoy the summer just past? Did I squeeze every drop of its juice? No. Because I didn’t know it was the moment before this moment here. Had I known I may have scampered through sunlit fields, tossed my shoes up at the sky. But who can know which moment is the one before? And even if you knew, how could the moment be preserved? These are the riddles behind living.”

-DBC Pierre, Lights Out in Wonderland