Your ears are lovely, he said, but there’s a kind of eerie beauty to your profile.
The high, thin nose was a little lonely, a little sad, but the bud of her lips opened and closed smoothly, like a beautiful little circle of leeches.
I could not bear the silences when the drum stopped. I sank down into the depths of the sound of the rain.
He could not call up the faces of his own mother and father, who had died three or four years before. He would look at a picture, and there they would be. Perhaps people were progressively harder to paint in the mind as they near one, loved by one. Perhaps clear memories came easily in proportion as they were ugly.
Do you think it’s right to not say goodbye to the man you yourself said was on the very first page of your very first volume of your diary? This is the very last page of his.
El tiempo corre de la misma manera para todos los seres humanos; pero todo ser humano flota de distinta manera en el tiempo.
The notes went out crystalline into the clean winter morning, to sound on the far, snowy peaks.
He closed his eyes and the warmth sank into his head, bringing an immediate sense of life. Reality came through the violent breathing, and with a sort of nostalgic remorse. He felt as though he was waiting tranquilly for some undefined revenge.
Love is my only lifeline.
Even when natural weather is good, human weather is bad.
Father’s life was only a very small part of the life of a tea bowl.
For such a tiny death, the empty eight-mat room seemed enormous.
Women are odd,” he said, to extricate himself. “Two or three of them have told me they’re sure I modeled one of my characters on them. And they were complete strangers, women I’d had nothing to do with. What kind of delusion could that be?” “Lots of women are unhappy, so they console themselves with delusions.
The sound of the freezing of snow over the land seemed to roar deep into the earth. There was no moon. The stars, almost too many of them to be true, came forward so brightly that it was as if they were falling with the swiftness of the void.
In the moonlight the fine geishalike skin took on the luster of a seashell.
A voice so beautiful it was almost lonely, calling out as if to someone who could not hear, on ship far away.
I like the idea of saying thank you on behalf of the weather.
A feeling of nagging, hopeless impotence came over Shimamura at the thought that a simple misunderstanding had worked its way so deep into the woman’s being.
La conciencia de su propio cuerpo era inseparable del recuerdo de aquel abrazo.
Two middle-aged American couples came back from the dining car and, as soon as they could see Mt. Fuji, past Numazu, stood at the windows eagerly taking photographs. By the time Fuji was completely visible, down to the fields at its base, they seemed tired of photographing and had turned their backs to it. The.