If The World Changed, I

Again And Again, The Cicada's Untiring Cry Pierced The Sultry Summer Air Like A Needle At Work On Thick Cotton Cloth.

The Most Appropriate Type Of Daily Life For Me Was A Day-by-day World Destruction; Peace Was The Most Difficult And Abnormal State To Live In.

He Had Never Looked Forward To The Wisdom And Other Vaunted Benefits Of Old Age. Would He Be Able To Die Young—and If Possible Free Of All Pain? A Graceful Death—as A Richly Patterned Kimono, Thrown Carelessly Across A Polished Table, Slides Unobtrusively Down Into The Darkness Of The Floor Beneath. A Death Marked By Elegance.

...of All The Kinds Of Decay In This World, Decadent Purity Is The Most Malignant.

I Seemed Like A Baby Bird Keeping Its Truly Innocent Animal Lusts Hidden Under Its Wing. I Was Being Tempted, Not By The Desire Of Possession, But Simply By Unadorned Temptation Itself.