twenty-seven years and one million words
Our friend Yaguchi-san is visiting; sadly, her visit coincides with an extremely rare north wind and it's currently 10C.
It's ridiculously cold; yesterday I was cycling in shorts, today I'm wearing my middle-warmth jacket. Before today, I have never seen a wind power turbine facing north.
The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to such a pass that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love, and in order to occupy and distract himself without love he gives way to passions and coarse pleasures, and sinks to bestiality in his vices, all from continual lying to other men and to himself.
—Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov