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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
Child
Sound
Children
Hoop
Made
Metal
Metals
Autumn
Rolling
Walked

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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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THE TRAIN came out of the long tunnel into the snow country.
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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.
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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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Our language is primarily for expressing human goodness and beauty.
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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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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 labor into which a heart has poured its whole love--where will it have its say, to excite and inspire, and when?
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Because you cannot see him, God is everywhere.
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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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From the way of Go the beauty of Japan and the Orient had fled. Everything had become science and regulation.
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I suppose even a woman's hatred is a kind of love.
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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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Does pain go away and leave no trace, then?’ ‘You sometimes even feel sentimental for it.
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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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Now, even more than the evening before, he could think of no one with whom to compare her. She had become absolute, beyond comparison. She had become decision and fate.
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The road was frozen. The village lay quiet under the cold sky. Komako hitched up the skirt of her kimono and tucked it into her obi. The moon shone like a blade frozen in blue ice.
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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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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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Maybe vagueness has been good for me. The word means two different things in Tokyo and Osaka, you know. In Tokyo it means stupidity, but in Osaka they talk about vagueness in a painting and in a game of Go.
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