Far away, I could hear them lapping up my brains. Like Macbeth's witches, the three lithe cats surrounded my broken head, slurping up that thick soup inside. The tips of their rough tongues licked the soft folds of my mind. And with each lick my consciousness flickered like a flame and faded away.
Haruki MurakamiAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: japanese
- Born: January 12, 1949
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Well, it’s no use your talking about waking him, said Tweedledum, when you’re only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you’re not real.
I am real! said Alice, and began to cry.
You won’t make yourself a bit realer by crying, Tweedledee remarked: there’s nothing to cry about.
If I wasn’t real, Alice said– half laughing through her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous– I shouldn’t be able to cry.
I hope you don’t think those are real tears? Tweedledee interrupted in a tone of...
Lewis Carroll