More Quotes by Yasunari Kawabata
The snow on the distant mountains was soft and creamy, as if veiled in a faint smoke.
Put your soul in the palm of my hand for me to look at, like a crystal jewel. I'll sketch it in words.
Seeing the moon, he becomes the moon, the moon seen by him becomes him. He sinks into nature, becomes one with nature. The light of the "clear heart" of the priest, seated in the meditation hall in the darkness before the dawn, becomes for the dawn moon its own light.
A poetess who had died young of cancer had said in one of her poems that for her, on sleepless nights, 'the night offers toads and black dogs and corpses of the drowned.
I suppose even a woman's hatred is a kind of love.
From the way of Go the beauty of Japan and the Orient had fled. Everything had become science and regulation.
The true joy of a moonlit night is something we no longer understand. Only the men of old, when there were no lights, could understand the true joy of a moonlit night.
In the depths of the mirror the evening landscape moved by, the mirror and the reflected figures like motion pictures superimposed one on the other. The figures and the background were unrelated, and yet the figures, transparent and intangible, and the background, dim in the gathering darkness, melted into a sort of symbolic world not of this world. Particularly when a light out in the mountains shone in the center of the girl's face, Shimamura felt his chest rise at the inexpressible beauty of it.
Does pain go away and leave no trace, then?’ ‘You sometimes even feel sentimental for it.
The labor into which a heart has poured its whole love--where will it have its say, to excite and inspire, and when?
