The Forest of Wool and Steel

Bright, quiet, crystal-clear writing that evokes fond memories, that seems a touch sentimental yet is unsparing and deep, writing as lovely as a dream, yet as exact as reality.

It doesn’t hurt so much to lose out on things if you never hoped for them in the first place. What really hurts is having things right there in front of you, and wanting them, and not being able to reach them.

Perhaps I hadn't taken the wrong path after all. Even if It took time, even if there were detours, this was exactly the right path for me.

Music is there to help us enjoy life, not as a means to outdo everyone else. Even if you do compete and a winner is picked – the person who enjoys himself the most is always the real winner.

Evening light poured in through the high windows, bathing the whirling eddies of dust in a yellow glow.

With both hands, he played an octave. The piano, part of the scenery until now, began to breathe. As each note was struck, the piano raised its heavy body and stretched its folded arms and legs, preparing to break into song, about to spread its wings. This was unlike any piano I’d ever seen. I pictured an enormous lion, slowly rising, eyes on its prey.

As unlike as morning and night, pencil and ink.

Playing the piano is not how I'll make a living, it's how I'll make a life.

The road of head was steep and long, and I had no firm idea as to how to achieve my goals. First came the will to do it, then persistence and effort. And then maybe something else entirely.

When you heard Kazune play, it summoned up visible, tangible scenery. Light shining down among the trees, wet with morning dew. Drops of water sparkling on the tips of leaves, then dripping down. One morning, repeated over and over again. A vibrancy and solemnity born fresh and new.