"Sure you won't regret this later?" said the shadow in a hushed voice. "It's wrong, I tell you. there's something wrong with this place. People can't live without their shadows, and shadows can't live without people. Yet they're splitting us apart. I don't like it. there's something wrong here.
Haruki Murakami: Hard-boiled wonderland and the end of the world
[end note 1] Editor's Note. I acknowledge the promptitude of the authors of the summary. Especially their promptitude to renegociate deadlines.
[...]
[end note 8] Editor's Note. I wish to express my true gratitude to the authors of the summary for not exceeding three times the expected length of a typical summary.
Sometimes it seems better to only say something afterwards.
“What am I to you?” he said, turning to look at the lake, his nostrils flaring. “You’re my boyfriend,” I said, rising to a kneel and wrapping my arms around him from behind. “For now,” he said, stiffening at my touch. “Until you find somebody at your fancy college who doesn’t have trouble understanding movies and gets the weird books you like.” “Grant,” I said, kissing the back of his neck. “I like you, all right?” “But you don’t think I can understand you,” he said.
Meredith Russo: If I Was Your Girl
But that’s not me. By definition, you can’t experience your own death. Death is the end of consciousness. And consciousness persists. In the language of physics, consciousness is conserved.
I am the one who wakes up in the morning.
Always.
Every morning.
I don’t die.
I just become increasingly unlikely.
