Haruki Murakami
No matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories.
No matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories.
Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.