I’m always waiting for Sunday morning and feel let down slightly because it is always beginning of a new quiet day and a sign of coming new noisy week.
There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before. 人の物語は、たったふたつかみっつしかない。そしてそれはいつも繰り返されるのだ。今まで決して起きた事のないほどの激しさで。
The crocus flower has suddenly appeared in a winter day. It is still cold and rains everyday. Trees are bare and you have no flowers. But she is there. She’s got the look.