Dance Dance Dance

• "I'm here. In my life. A feature of the world that is my existance. Not that I particularly recall ever having approved these matters, this condition, this state of affairs in which I feature."
• "...malicious - no, make that indifferent - dusty morning light."
• "Maybe I'll stretch, nice and slow. Enough for me to be sure I'm myself and not part of something else."
• "Precipitate as weather,"
• "I felt like crying. Sometimes one little thing will do the trick."
• "So what do I have to do?" "Dance," said the Sheep Man.
• "I'm not sticking to my guns," "It's more like just a dance. Something the body remembers. It's a habit. The music plays, the body moves. It almost doesn't matter what else is happening. If too many things get in my head, I might end up blowing my steps. I'm clumsy, not trendy."
• I wanted to sleep with Yumiyoshi. It wasn't out of the question. Just get one foot in her door, so to speak, and tell her, "You have to sleep with me. You should sleep with me." Then I undress her, gently, like untying the ribbon on a present. First her coat, then her glasses, then her sweater. Her clothes off, she'd turn into Mei. Cuck-koo, she says. "Like my body?" But before I can answer, the night is gone. Kiki is beside me, Gotanda's graceful fingers playing over her back. The door opens. Enter Yuki. She sees me making love with Kiki. It's me this time, not Gotanda. Only the fingers are his. "I can't believe this," says Yuki. "I really can't believe this." "It's not like that," I say. "What was that all about?" says Kiki for the umpteenth time. It's not like that, I insist. The one I want to sleep with is Yumiyoshi. I just got my signals crossed. First thing, I have to untangle the connections. Otherwise, I come away empty-handed. Or with someone else's hands. Or even a missing hand.
• The sky grew darker, painted blue on blue, one stroke at a time, into deeper and deeper shades of night.
• "Yeah, but I think I did say some aweful things."
• "That's just stupid, that kind of thinking," "Instead of regretting what you did, you could have treated him decently from the beginning. You could've tried to be fair. But you didn't. You don't even have the right to be sorry." "Maybe I'm being too hard on you. But listen, I don't care what other people do. I don't want to hear that sort of talk from you. You shouldn't say things like thay lightly, as if saying them is going to solve anything. They don't stick. You think you feel sorry about Dick, but I don't believe you really do. If I were Dick, I wouldn't want your easy regret. I wouldn't want people saying, 'Oh, I acted horribly.' It's not a question of manners; it's a question of fairness. That's something you have to learn."
• "Just think about what comes before words. You owe that to the dead. As time goes on, you'll understand. what lasts, lasts; what doesn't, doesn't. Time solves most things. And what time can't solve, you have to solve yourself. Is that too much to ask?"
• "...So you should treat others in a way that leaves no regrets. Fairly, and if possible, sincerely. It's too easy not to make the effort, then weep and wring your hands after the person dies. Personally, I don't buy it."
• People leave traces of themselves where they feel most comfortable, most worthwhile.
• A moderate silence ensued. A neutral-to-slightly-positive silence. True, silence is still silence, except when you think about it too much.
• "Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by. The past increases, the future recedes. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting."