My very existence, my life in the world, seemed
like a hallucination. A strong wind would make me think my body was
about to be blown to the end of the earth, to some land I had never seen
or heard of, where my mind and body would separate forever. “Hold
tight,” I would tell myself, but there was nothing for me to hold on to.
| — | Haruki Murakami, “Sleep” |

