“She grew more and more silent about what really mattered. She curled inside herself like one of those black chimney brushes the little shellfish you see on the beach, and you touch them, and the go inside and don’t come out.” — Janet Frame, Owls Do Cry
All I do is keep on running in my own cozy, homemade void, my own nostalgic silence. And this is a pretty wonderful thing. No matter what anybody else says.” — Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running
