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This, then, was the scene that had lived in the fondest part of my memory for so many years. In none of its details had I found anything to wonder at. And then one day -- in fact, just two or three days ago -- as I was gazing blankly at the view from my window, it struck me with such force that, for a moment, I was unable to breathe. Peaches in the winter? Frogs and mud snails in the winter? How could I have failed to notice that until now? And, stranger still, what had inspired me -- possessed me -- at this one moment to seize upon the vital clue? For it was this that lay bare the hoax that memory had played on me year after year. Now, for the first time, I saw the wildly impossible connection that memory had made: carting a load of peaches on a cold winter night! Nowadays, perhaps. But back then? Unthinkable.

— Penguin Book of Japanese Short Stories by Haruki Murakami, Jay Rubin (Page 193)

For his part, my father would have found it a stain on the family honour were his son to become known as a reporter or a clerk or a servant or some other lowly worker. 'Fortunately we have a spare room,' he said, 'and food. You can just live here quietly and keep to yourself.' With that, he brought the discussion to a close.

— Penguin Book of Japanese Short Stories by Haruki Murakami, Jay Rubin (Page 70)