Mori smiled properly. The lines around his eyes were deeper than usual now. They made him look like an old photograph of a young man, often crushed, but ironed carefully so that only the ghosts of the marks remained.

Being solitary isn't a disease that needs a cure.

In Japan, first names are only for who you're married to, or if you're being rude,' the watchmaker explained.

The safest way to success is to write according to the capacity of the stupidest member of the audience.

A haggard man used one of the huts as a home. He lay on a sagging mattress, his head on his pack, surrounded by rubbish - paper, porcelain shards, food remains and unidentifiable debris. His hand was over his eyes. He looked like a failed soldier. Dirt seemed so worked into him that the lines of his face were like writing.

The very shapes of the trees were like frozen screams.