Few things are as unattractive as a pretty woman who flaunts her assets in a boastful manner. Few things are as sad as a pretty woman who believes her beauty defines her worth.
Or any man’s for that matter; set high expectations.
Your heart is a great river after a long spell of rain, spilling over its banks. All signposts that once stood on the ground are gone, inundated and carried away by that rush of water. And still the rain beats down on the surface of the river. Every time you see a flood like that on the news you tell yourself: That’s it. That’s my heart.
Kafka on the Shore, Haruki Murakami