When I thought of how I'd been living, how I'd been approaching life, it was all so trite, so miserably pointless. Unimaginative middle-class rubbish, and I wanted to gather it all up and stuff it away in some drawer. Or else light it on fire and watch it go up in smoke {though what kind of smoke it would emit I had no idea}.
( Haruki Murakami )
[ Men Without Women ]
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