Haruki Murakami Quotes

Sometimes, only one person is missing, and the whole world seems depopulated.

Maybe existence is ultimately a lonely thing.

Oh, what a void there is in things.

I sat there with everything - and I had nothing.

We can't feel anything - all that's left inside us is dust.

But inside or out, I was alone, and I was beginning to wonder if I always had been, if I always would be.

The loneliness of a one night stand is hard to take.

They cared for no one, they were outside humanity, and death, had it come, would only have continued their pursuit of a retreating horizon.

They were here all at once, but not together. Survival took self-absorption, and it made them strangers with nothing to do and no way to relate. Emergencies gave you a shape and a plot to take part in, while death was no story at all. It left you nothing.

Alone, I often fall down into nothingness. I must push my foot stealthily lest I should fall off the edge of the world into nothingness. I have to bang my head against some hard door to call myself back to the body.

Reality was utterly coolheaded and utterly lonely.

... we are all terribly alone no matter what people say.

I wonder if I shall ever see her again, and I realize that I scarcely care. I can feel the sheets beneath me, and the cold air on my chest. I feel fine. I feel absolutely fine. I feel nothing at all.

I wandered off, walking through streets that seemed emptier than ever, thinking that if I didn't stop, if I kept on walking, I wouldn't notice that the world I thought I knew was no longer there.

There were people everywhere but no one was mine, and I was no one's.

Usually there's no specific reason for loneliness - it's a broad feeling.

I don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.

I felt as if I had attended the funeral of someone I didn't know.

The girl was lighter without her heart. She danced barefoot on the hot roads, and her feet were not cut by the glass or stones that studded her way. She spoke to the dead whenever they visited her. She tried to be kind, but they realised that they no longer had anything in common with her, and she realised it, too. So they went their separate ways.

I am nothing. I’m like someone who’s been thrown into the ocean at night, floating all alone. I reach out, but no one is there. I call out, but no one answers. I have no connection to anything.

You can sit up here, feeling above it all while knowing you’re not, coming to the lonely conclusion that the only thing you can ever really know about anyone is that you don’t know anything about them at all.

You can touch everything and be connected to nothing.

Outcast on a cold star, unable to feel anything but an awful helpless numbness. I look down into the warm, earthy world. Into a nest of lovers' beds, baby cribs, meal tables, all the solid commerce of life in this earth, and feel apart, enclosed in a wall of glass.

The first thing I remember about the world and I pray that it may be the last is that I was a stranger in it. This feeling, which everyone has in some degree, and which is, at once, the glory and desolation of homo sapiens , provides the only thread of consistency that I can detect in my life.