I found a book on a shelf called A Fool's Life by a Japanese writer named Akutagawa Ryunosuke. It's a series of short, poetic, enigmatic blurbs about his life, autobiographical and confusing and sprinkled with incredible descriptions and lines.

Here's a sample: "Her face gleamed. It was like the light of morning sun on thin ice." That is such a great simile. It continues.

"He liked her. But it was not love. He never even touched her body, not even a finger.

'You're trying to die, aren't you?'

'Yes. --- No. Not trying to die. But sick of living.'"

He, the author, and this woman made a suicide pact they never consummated, thankfully. Otherwise we wouldn't have his strange and great book.