I dug my hands into my pockets and stood by the window, gazing out.  These things unfolded entirely apart from me.  Unrelated to my existenceーunrelated to anybody's existenceーeverything came to pass.  The snow fell, the snow melted.

from Haruki Murakami “A Wild Sheep Chase” (Translated by Jay Rubin). 1982.

I gaze at their hushed forms as the morning sun rises and the shadow of the Wall withdraws, the brilliance melting the snow from the ground. Will the morning sun thaw away even their death? At any moment, will these apparently lifeless forms stand and go about their usual morning routine?

from Haruki Murakami “Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World” (Translated by Alfred Birnbaum). 1985.

“So after he died, I didn’t know what it meant to love another person.”

She reached for her wineglass on the table but only managed to knock it over, spilling wine on the carpet. I crouched down and retrived the glass, setting it on the table. Did she want to drink some more? I asked. Naoko remained silent for a while., then suddenly burst into tears, trembling all over. Slumping forward, she same suffocating violence as she had that night with me.

My feet carried me down the road, which was illuminated by the oddly unreal light of the moon, and into the woods. Beneath that moonlight, all sounds bore a strange reverberation. The hollow soud of my own footsteps seemed to come from another direction as through I were hearing someone walking on the bottom of the sea. Behind me, every now and then, I would hear hear a crack or a rustle. A heavy pall hung over the forest, as if the animals of the night were holding their breath, waiting for me to pass.

from Haruki Murakami “Norwegian Wood” (Translated by Jay Rubin). 1987.

I thought about what he said. "You're probably right. As you say, I've lost and I'm lost and I'm confused. I'm not anchored to anything. Here's the only place I feel like I belong to." I broke off and stared at my hands in the candle-light. "But the other thing, the person I hear crying in my dreams, is there a connection here? I think I can feel it. You know, if I could, I think I want to pick up where I left off, years ago. That must be what I need you here for."

Hawaii.

Just how many days had I been in the Islands?  The concept of time had vanished from my head.  Today comes after yesterday, tomorrow comes after today.  The sun comes up, the sun goes down; the moon rises, the moon sets; tide comes in, tide goes out.

"It's sad, but I think he was that sort of person," I said. "A nice guy, maybe even worthy of respect. But he got treated like some kind of fancy trash basket. People were always dumping on him. Maybe he was born with that tendency. Mediocrity's like a spot on a shirt—it never comes off." 

"Well, of course it is," I said, trying to smile too. "I doubt that this makes sense to most people. But I think I'm right. People die all the time. Life is a lot more fragile than we think. So you should treat others in a way that leaves no regrets. Fairly, and if possible, sincerely. It's too easy not to make the effort, then weep and wring your hands after the person dies. Personally, I don't buy it." 

from Haruki Murakami “Dance Dance Dance” (Translated by Alfred Birnbaum). 1988.

The point is, not to resist the flow.  You go up when you're supposed to go up and down when you're supposed to go down.  When you're supposed to go up, find the highest tower and climb to the top.  When you're supposed to go down, find the deepest well and go down to the bottom.  When theres no flow, stay still. If you resist the flow, everything dries up.  If everything dries up, the world is darkness.  I am he and / He is me: / Spring nightfall.  Abandon the self, and there you are.

from Haruki Murakami “The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle” (Translated by Jay Rubin). 1994-1995.

Sumire couldn’t work out what she meant. Knife and fork poised in mid-air, she gave it some thought. “Sputnik? You mean the first satellite the Soviets sent up, in the fifties? Jack Kerouac was an American novelist. I guess they do overlap in terms of generation…”

from Haruki Murakami “Sputnik Sweetheart" (Translated by Philip Gabriel).  1999.

"But you know," she goes on, "when I was fifteen, I thought there had to be a place like that in the world. I was sure that somewhere I'd run across the entrance that would take me to that other world."

from Haruki Murakami “Kafka on the Shore" (Translated by Philip Gabriel).  2002.

This hurt the first time she said it, but after he had gone with her long enough, Yoshiya began to enjoy dancing. As he let himself go and moved his body in time to the music, he would come to feel that the natural rhythm inside him was pulsing in perfect unison with the basic rhythm of the world. The ebb and flow of the tide, the dancing of the wind across the plains, the course of the stars through the heavens: he felt certain that these things were by no means occurring in places unrelated to him.

from Haruki Murakami “After the Quake: Stories” (Translated by Jay Rubin).  2002.

She goes on with her story. “I don’t remember how long the darkness lasted. Now it seems awfully long to me, but in fact it may not have been that long. Exactly how many minutes it lasted−five minutes, twenty minutes−really doesn’t matter. The important thing is that during that whole time in the dark, Eri was holding me. And it wasn’t just some ordinary hug. She squeezed one. She never loosened her grip for a second, It felt as though if we separated the slightest bit, we would never see each other in this world again.”

from Haruki Murakami “After Dark” (Translated by Jay Rubin).  2004.

“Well, take these words, for example,” Komatsu said. “ ‘Every art and every inquiry, and similarly every action and pursuit, is thought to aim at some good; and for this reason the good has rightly been declared to be that at which all things aim.’ ” 

“What is that?” 

“Aristotle. Nicomachean Ethics. Have you ever read Aristotle?” 

“Almost nothing.” 

“You ought to. I’m sure you’d like it. Whenever I run out of things to read, I read Greek philosophy. I never get tired of the stuff. There’s always something new to learn.”

“So what’s the point of the quotation?” 

“The conclusion of things is the good. The good is, in other words, the conclusion at which all things arrive. Let’s leave doubt for tomorrow,” Komatsu said. “That is the point.” 

“What does Aristotle have to say about the Holocaust?” Komatsu’s crescent-moon smile further deepened. “Here, Aristotle is mainly talking about things like art and scholarship and crafts.”

from Haruki Murakami “1Q84” (Translated by Jay Rubin and Philip Gabriel).  2009-2010.

“Tsukuru, there’s one thing I want you to remember. You aren’t colorless. Those were just names. I know we often teased you about it, but it was just a stupid joke. Tsukuru Tazaki is a wonderful, colorful person. A person who builds fantastic stations. A healthy thirty-six-year-old citizen, a voter, a taxpayer – someone who could fly all the way to Finland just to see me. You don’t lack anything. Be confident and be bold. That’s all you need. Never let fear and stupid pride make you lose someone who’s precious to you.”

from Haruki Murakami “Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage” (Translated by Philip Gabriel).  2013.

I stood in the pit for some time, lost in throught.  I didn't feel trapped since I could see a cleanly severed half-moon of sky above.  I flicked off my flashlight, leaned my back against the damp, dark stone wall, and closed my eyes as the rain pattered overhead.  Something was running through my mind, but I couldn't grasp what it was.  One thought would link to another, which in turn would link to another, which in turn would link to still another thought.  That chain was bizarre somehow, through I couldn't  say exactly why.  It was as if I had been swallowed by the act of thinking, if that makes sence.

from Haruki Murakami “Killing Commendatore" (Translated by Philip Gabriel and Ted Groossen).  2017.