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More Quotes by Yasunari Kawabata
The snow on the distant mountains was soft and creamy, as if veiled in a faint smoke.
A child walked by, rolling a metal hoop that made a sound of autumn.
I suppose even a woman's hatred is a kind of love.
People have separated from each other with walls of concrete that blocked the roads to connection and love. and Nature has been defeated in the name of development.
And I can't complain. After all, only women are able really to love.
I wonder what the retirement age is in the novel business. The day you die.
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.
They were words that came out of nothing, but they seemed to him somehow significant. He muttered them over again.
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.
