…And it came to me then. That we were wonderful traveling companions, but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal on their own separate orbits. From far off they look like beautiful shooting stars, but in reality they’re nothing more than prisons, where each of us is locked up alone, going nowhere.
Sputnik Sweetheart - Haruki Murakami (via brokenpromiseland)
Happy birthday, Bram.
Abraham “Bram” Stoker
(Clontarf, 8 novembre 1847 – Londra, 20 aprile 1912)
