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“Whenever I heard that languid, beautiful melody, those days came back to me. It wasn’t what I’d characterize as a happy part of my life, living as I was, a balled-up mass of unfulfilled desires. I was much younger, much hungrier, much more alone. But I was myself, pared down to the essentials. I could feel each single note of music, each line I read, seep down deep inside me. My nerves were sharp as a blade, my eyes shining with a piercing light. And every time I heard that music, I recalled my eyes then, glaring back at me from a mirror.”
― Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun

“...as we are endowed. ...with rhetorics. ...none will deny.
...of innocence. ...towards scribbling. ...of love lines.
...and of lust.
...to what seems like male.
...to what seems like female.
...in those days.
...I mean nothing. ...but in high school.
....even me.
...I can't deny.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson