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When i write about a 15-year old, i jump, i return to the days when i was that age. it's like a time machine. i can remember everything. i can feel the wind. i can smell the air. very actually. very vividly.
-Haruki Murakami
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When I Write About A 15-year Old,

Haruki Murakami
When i write about a 15-year old, i jump, i return to the days when i was that age. it's like a time machine. i can remember everything. i can feel the wind. i can smell the air. very actually. very vividly.
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Birthday Writing Remembers Everything

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When you smell our candles burning, what does it make you think of, my child?" winterfell, she might have said. i smell snow and smoke and pine needles. i smell the stables. i smell hodor laughing, and jon and robb battling in the yard, and sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. i smell the crypts where the stone kings sit. i smell hot bread baking. i smell the godswood. i smell my wolf. i smell her fur, almost as if she were still beside me. "i don't smell anything," she said.
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Crabbed age and youth cannot live together; youth is full of pleasure, age is full of care; youth like summer morn, age like winter weather; youth like summer brave, age like winter bare. youth is full sport, age's breath is short; youth is nimble, age is lame; youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold; youth is wild, age is tame. age, i do abhor thee; youth, i do adore thee.
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Remember that the machine is there to help you, because at the end of the day, you're not playing freestyle chess, advanced chess, human-plus-machine. if you are playing against other humans, it's about winning the game. the machine will not be assisting you, unless you are cheating of course. and since the machine is not there, you have to make sure that everything you learn from the computer will not badly affect the way you play the real game.
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The wheel of time turns, and ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the age that gave it birth comes again. in one age, called the third age by some, an age yet to come, an age long past, a wind rose in the mountains of mist. the wind was not the beginning. there are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the wheel of time. but it was a beginning.
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...nameless, unknown to me as you were, i couldn't forget your voice!' 'for how long?' 'o - ever so long. days and days.' 'days and days! only days and days? o, the heart of a man! days and days!' 'but, my dear madam, i had not known you more than a day or two. it was not a full-blown love - it was the merest bud - red, fresh, vivid, but small. it was a colossal passion in embryo. it never returned.
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