Yukio Mishima

It was a limp, drooping shame and resembled the carcass of a dead rat caught up among flotsam in a stagnant stream.

I lacked, in short, the muscles suitable for a dramatic death.

The formulation of any new way of thought begins with the trial rephrasing in many different ways of a single, as yet ambiguous theme. As the fisherman tries all kinds of rods, and the fencer all kinds of bamboo swords until he finds one whose length and weight suit him, so, in the formulation of a way of thinking, an as yet imprecise idea is given experimental expression in a variety of forms; only when the right measurements and weight are discovered does it become part of oneself.

“Good evening,” said Hanio.
“Good evening.”
“You’re pretty.”
She giggled.
“Do you know what I’m going to say next?”
She giggled again.

again.
“You can’t tell, can you?”
“Well, I might have an idea.”
“Later on tonight, I intend to kill myself.”

“Life for Sale. Use me as you wish. I am a twenty-seven-year-old male. Discretion guaranteed. Will cause no bother at all.”

“That pavement’s the border of the world. As long as they can’t see us from down there, they can’t see us from anywhere. It’s funny, really. We’re safe inside this big old lie.”

“That pavement’s the border of the world. As long as they can’t see us from down there, they can’t see us from anywhere. It’s funny, really. We’re safe inside this big old lie.”

There’s no need to be hopelessly romantic. Modern stars need to speak in a way that clearly frames the woman as a sex object

There’s no need to be hopelessly romantic. Modern stars need to speak in a way that clearly frames the woman as a sex object