Book: Kafka on the shore

- That's it. Fire.

You're afraid of your imagination. And even more - dreams.

Don't want to, but school have to finish, we still compulsory secondary education.

You will find the courage to admit a mistake - to correct the case.

When the war begins, people take in soldiers. They take the rifle, go to war. Kill enemy soldiers. As much as possible. And nobody cares what the fact whether you like it or not like it. You have to do it all here. Otherwise you will be killed.

In the back of the hall kept the books "for the General reader". Anthology of Japanese and world literature works of different authors, ancient epic, philosophy, drama, art... one by One I took them in hand, opened, and the pages at me was breathing century. A special smell of deep knowledge and passion peacefully sleeping in covers a long sleep.

You're only fifteen years old. Life, to put it mildly, has just begun. How long are you in this world has never seen! And imagine imagine.

You still do not know life. What kind of work you will find in the middle of nowhere? You're only fifteen. Still go to school. Who is this going to take?

That's how stories happen - with a turning point, an unexpected plot. Happiness is all the same; everyone is unhappy in its own way. Rights Tolstoy. Happiness is a parable and unhappiness story.

Sometimes a living person becomes a Ghost.

I blushed slightly and shook his head. Laughing, Saeki-San back into the next room to a couple. Without rising from his chair, I looked after her: surprisingly gracefully and naturally she goes. Don't know how to say this, but in her manners and movements were something special. Turning back, she just wanted to hand me something. What you can't put it into words. Will not give when you stand face to face. But I didn't understand what she wanted to tell me. I actually didn't understand much.

Your soul is as swollen by long rains big river. The flood engulfed everything that was on the ground, leaving no sign, no index, and is rushing somewhere in the dark. And the rain keeps pouring and pouring over the river. Every time I see such a deluge in the news on TV, you think: "Yes, that's right. It's my soul."

I think you have the right to live the way you want. How old man fifteen or fifty-one is not important. But, unfortunately, my point of view generally accepted is not the same.

One metaphor to the distance to the target is much shorter.