鈥淓very one of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That鈥檚 what part of it means to be alive. But inside our heads 鈥� at least that鈥檚 where I imagine it 鈥� there鈥檚 a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in a while, let fresh air in, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you鈥檒l live for ever in your own private library.鈥�
鈥� Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
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