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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.

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
Distant
Coast
Mountains
Inland
Center
Roars
Sea
Clap
Mountain
Roar
Along
Roaring
Like
Thunder

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I wonder what the retirement age is in the novel business. The day you die.
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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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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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I suppose even a woman's hatred is a kind of love.
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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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The snow on the distant mountains was soft and creamy, as if veiled in a faint smoke.
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And I can't complain. After all, only women are able really to love.
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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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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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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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Lunatics have no age. If we were crazy, you and I, we might be a great deal younger.
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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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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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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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