The Train Came Out Of The Long

I Suppose Even A Woman's Hatred Is A Kind Of Love.

In The Depths Of The Mirror The Evening Landscape Moved By, The Mirror And The Reflected Figures Like Motion Pictures Superimposed One On The Other. The Figures And The Background Were Unrelated, And Yet The Figures, Transparent And Intangible, And The Background, Dim In The Gathering Darkness, Melted Into A Sort Of Symbolic World Not Of This World. Particularly When A Light Out In The Mountains Shone In The Center Of The Girl's Face, Shimamura Felt His Chest Rise At The Inexpressible Beauty Of It.

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.

Our Language Is Primarily For Expressing Human Goodness And Beauty.

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.