#Kafka On The Shore
Quotes about kafka-on-the-shore
"Kafka on the Shore" is a mesmerizing exploration of the human psyche, weaving together themes of self-discovery, fate, and the surreal. This novel, a masterpiece of magical realism, invites readers into a world where the boundaries between reality and dreams blur, and where the journey of its characters becomes a profound reflection on the nature of identity and destiny. The tag "Kafka-on-the-Shore" represents a tapestry of emotions and philosophical musings, capturing the essence of courage, introspection, and the quest for meaning in a seemingly chaotic universe. People are drawn to quotes from this narrative because they resonate with the universal human experience of searching for one's place in the world. The novel's enigmatic and thought-provoking passages offer solace and inspiration, encouraging readers to embrace the unknown and find beauty in the complexities of life. As you delve into the quotes from "Kafka on the Shore," prepare to be captivated by the profound insights and poetic imagery that continue to inspire and challenge readers around the globe.
It's not just that I'm dumb. Nakata's empty inside. I finally understand that. Nakata's like a library without a single book. It wasn't always like that. I used to have books inside me. For a long time I couldn't remember, but now I can. I used to be normal, just like everybody else. But something happened and I ended up like a container with nothing inside.
That’s what love’s all about. You’re the only one having those wonderful feelings, but you have to go it alone as you wander through the dark your mind and body have to bear it all. All by yourself.
Why does loving somebody mean you have to hurt them just as much? I mean if that’s the way it goes, what’s the point of loving someone? Why the hell does it have to be like that?
Things change every day, Mr Nakata. With each new dawn it's not the same world as the day before. And you're not the same person you were, either.
...dirty dishes out to the kitchen and starts washing them. I watch her do all this. I want to say something, but when I'm with her words no longer function as they're supposed to. Or maybe the meaning that ties them together has vanished? I stare at my hands and think of the dogwood outside the window, glinting in the moonlight. That's where the blade that's stabbing me in the heart is. "Will I see you again?" I ask.
Time weighs down on you like an old, ambiguous dream. You keep on moving, trying to slip through it. But even if you go to the ends of the earth, you won't be able to escape it. Still, you have to go there—to the edge of the world. There's something you can't do unless you get there.
She hesitates for a moment, then lowers my boxers, pulls out my rock-hardcock, and cradles it gently in her hand. Like she's making sure of something, theway a doctor takes a pulse. With her soft hand touching me, I feel something--astray thought, maybe--spring up in my crotch.
It's all a question of imagination. Our responsibility begins with the power to imagine. It's just as Yeats said: In dreams begin responsibility. Turn on this on its head and you could say that where there's no power to imagine, no responsibility can arise. Just as we see with Eichmann.