Our Language Is Primarily For

The Labor Into Which A Heart Has Poured Its Whole Love--where Will It Have Its Say, To Excite And Inspire, And When?

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.

They Were Words That Came Out Of Nothing, But They Seemed To Him Somehow Significant. He Muttered Them Over Again.

The Woman Was Silent, Her Eyes On The Floor. Shimamura Had Come To A Point Where He Knew He Was Only Parading His Masculine Shamelessness, And Yet It Seemed Likely Enough That The Woman Was Familiar With The Failing And Need Not Be Shocked By It. He Looked At Her. Perhaps It Was The Rich Lashes Of The Downcast Eyes That Made Her Face Seem Warm And Sensuous. She Shook Her Head Very Slightly, And Again A Faint Blush Spread Over Her Face.

But A Haiku By Buson Came Into His Mind: 'i Try To Forget This Senile Love; A Chilly Autumn Shower.' The Gloom Only Grew Denser.