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A child walked by, rolling a metal hoop that made a sound of autumn.

Yasunari Kawabata

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Yasunari Kawabata
Age: 72 †
Born: 1899
Born: June 11
Died: 1972
Died: April 16
Novelist
Poet
Screenwriter
Writer
Ōsaka
Children
Hoop
Made
Metal
Metals
Autumn
Rolling
Walked
Child
Sound

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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.
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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.
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A secret, if it's kept, can be sweet and comforting, but once it leaks out it can turn on you with a vengeance.
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Put your soul in the palm of my hand for me to look at, like a crystal jewel. I'll sketch it in words.
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Along the coast the sea roars, and inland the mountains roar – the roaring at the center, like a distant clap of thunder.
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I wonder what the retirement age is in the novel business. The day you die.
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They were words that came out of nothing, but they seemed to him somehow significant. He muttered them over again.
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But, drawn to her at that moment, he felt a quiet like the voice of the rain flow over him. He knew well enough that for her it was in fact no waste of effort, but somehow the final determination that it was had the effect of distilling and purifying the woman's existence.
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Lunatics have no age. If we were crazy, you and I, we might be a great deal younger.
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The winter moon becomes a companion, the heart of the priest, sunk in meditation upon religion and philosophy, there in the mountain hall, is engaged in a delicate interplay and exchange with the moon and it is this of which the poet sings.
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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.
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I suppose even a woman's hatred is a kind of love.
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It's remarkable how we go on year after year, doing the same old things. We get tired and bored, and ask when they'll come for us
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Does pain go away and leave no trace, then?’ ‘You sometimes even feel sentimental for it.
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And I can't complain. After all, only women are able really to love.
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Cosmic time is the same for everyone, but human time differs with each person. Time flows in the same way for all human beings every human being flows through time in a different way.
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Our language is primarily for expressing human goodness and beauty.
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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.
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The snow on the distant mountains was soft and creamy, as if veiled in a faint smoke.
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Because you cannot see him, God is everywhere.
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