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The snow on the distant mountains was soft and creamy, as if veiled in a faint smoke.

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
Veiled
Faint
Distant
Mountains
Soft
Snow
Smoke
Mountain
Creamy

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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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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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I suppose even a woman's hatred is a kind of love.
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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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A child walked by, rolling a metal hoop that made a sound of autumn.
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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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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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And I can't complain. After all, only women are able really to love.
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I wonder what the retirement age is in the novel business. The day you die.
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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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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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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 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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Lunatics have no age. If we were crazy, you and I, we might be a great deal younger.
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Our language is primarily for expressing human goodness and beauty.
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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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THE TRAIN came out of the long tunnel into the snow country.
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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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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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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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