From the way of Go the beauty of Japan and the Orient had fled. Everything had become science and regulation.

Put your soul in the palm of my hand for me to look at, like a crystal jewel. I'll sketch it in words.

Even if you have the wit to look by yourself in a bush away from the other children, there are not many bell crickets in the world. Probably you will find a girl like a grasshopper whom you think is a bell cricket.And finally, to your clouded, wounded heart, even a true bell cricket will seem like a grasshopper. Should that day come, when it seems to you that the world is only full of grasshoppers, I will think it a pity that you have no way to remember tonight's play of light, when your name was written in green by your beautiful lantern on a girl's breast.

THE TRAIN came out of the long tunnel into the snow country.

The road was frozen. The village lay quiet under the cold sky. Komako hitched up the skirt of her kimono and tucked it into her obi. The moon shone like a blade frozen in blue ice.

From the way of Go the beauty of Japan and the Orient had fled. Everything had become science and regulation.

It's remarkable how we go on year after year, doing the same old things. We get tired and bored, and ask when they'll come for us