Yukio Mishima

confidential criticism."

I see it as a twilight genre between the night of confession and the daylight of criticism.

comes the pillar of plain wood, then the white ants that feed on it. But for me, the white ants were there from the start, and the pillar of plain wood emerged tardily, already half eaten away.

Here I was at twenty-three, an age when nothing is impossible.

“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.”

“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

Compared to this variety of time, the hours of ordinary life were no more than a worn and tattered obi unwinding from the waist.

Now I could be seen completely. Being seen made me their king.

I can say that loving nature was an error. Not seeing my affection for the weakness that it was, I put a stain upon my youth.