The Snow On The Distant

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.

Our Language Is Primarily For Expressing Human Goodness And Beauty.

From The Way Of Go The Beauty Of Japan And The Orient Had Fled. Everything Had Become Science And Regulation.

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.