Abruptly He Thrust His Snow-drenched Leather Gloves

For An Artist To Do Creative Work, He Needs At Once Physical Health And Some Physiomental Ill Health. He Needs Both Serenity And Gloom.

Time Is What Matters. As Time Goes By, You And I Will Be Carried Inexorably Into The Mainstream Of Our Period, Even Though We’re Unaware Of What It Is. And Later, When They Say That Young Men In The Early Taisho Era Thought, Dressed, Talked, In Such And Such A Way, They’ll Be Talking About You And Me. We’ll All Be Lumped Together…. In A Few Decades, People Will See You And The People You Despise As One And The Same, A Single Entity.

A Father Is A Reality-concealing Machine, A Machine For Dishing Up Lies To Kids, And That Isn't Even The Worst Of It: Secretly He Believes That He Represents Reality.

In The Pale Light Of Daybreak The Gravestones Looked Like So Many White Sails Of Boats Anchored In A Busy Harbor. They Were Sails That Would Never Again Be Filled With Wind, Sails That, Too Long Unused And Heavily Drooping, Had Been Turned Into Stone Just As They Were. The Boats' Anchors Had Been Thrust So Deeply Into The Dark Earth That They Could Never Again Be Raised.

Just Let Matters Slide. How Much Better To Accept Each Sweet Drop Of The Honey That Was Time, Than To Stoop To The Vulgarity Latent In Every Decision. However Grave The Matter At Hand Might Be, If One Neglected It For Long Enough, The Act Of Neglect Itself Would Begin To Affect The Situation, And Someone Else Would Emerge As An Ally. Such Was Count Ayakura's Version Of Political Theory.