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Pain, I Came To Feel, Might Well Prove To Be The Sole Proof Of The Persistence Of Consciousness Within The Flesh, The Sole Physical Expression Of Consciousness. As My Body Acquired Muscle, And In Turn Strength, There Was Gradually Born Within Me A Tendency Towards The Positive Acceptance Of Pain, And My Interest In Physical Suffering Deepened.

-Yukio Mishima

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Pain, I Came To

Yukio Mishima

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Pain, I Came To Feel, Might Well Prove To Be The Sole Proof Of The Persistence Of Consciousness Within The Flesh, The Sole Physical Expression Of Consciousness. As My Body Acquired Muscle, And In Turn Strength, There Was Gradually Born Within Me A Tendency Towards The Positive Acceptance Of Pain, And My Interest In Physical Suffering Deepened.

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Pain, I Came To Feel, Might Well Prove To Be The Sole Proof Of The Persistence Of Consciousness Within The Flesh, The Sole Physical Expression Of Consciousness. As My Body Acquired Muscle, And In Turn Strength, There Was Gradually Born Within Me A Tendency Towards The Positive Acceptance Of Pain, And My Interest In Physical Suffering Deepened.

There Isn't Any Fear In Existence Itself, Or Any Uncertainty, But Living Creates It.

What I Wanted Was To Die Among Strangers, Untroubled, Beneath A Cloudless Sky. And Yet My Desire Differed From The Sentiments Of That Ancient Greek Who Wanted To Die Under The Brilliant Sun. What I Wanted Was Some Natural, Spontaneous Suicide. I Wanted A Death Like That Of A Fox, Not Yet Well Versed In Cunning, That Walks Carelessly Along A Mountain Path And Is Shot By A Hunter Because Of Its Own Stupidity.

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His Emotion Evident In The Glitter Of His Eyes.

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The Purest Evil That Human Efforts Could Attain, In Other Words, Was Probably Achieved By Those Men Who Made Their Wills The Same And Who Made Their Eyes See The World In The Same Way, Men Who Went Against The Pattern Of Life's Diversity, Men Whose Spirits Shattered The Natural Wall Of The Individual Body, Making Nothing Of This Barrier, Set Up To Guard Against Mutual Corrosion, Men Whose Spirit Accomplished What Flesh Could Never Accomplish.

A Samurai Is A Total Human Being, Whereas A Man Who Is Completely Absorbed In His Technical Skill Has Degenerated Into A ‘function’, One Cog In A Machine.

Quite Possibly, What I Call Happiness May Coincide With What Others Call The Moment Of Imminent Danger

Mine Was The Unbearable Jealousy A Cultured Pearl Must Feel Toward A Genuine One. Or Can There Be Such A Thing In This World As A Man Who Is Jealous Of The Woman Who Loves Him, Precisely Because Of Her Love?

Beyond Doubt, There Was A Certain Splendor In Pain, Which Bore A Deep Affinity To The Splendor That Lies Hidden Within Strength.

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Real Danger Is Nothing More Than Just Living. Of Course, Living Is Merely The Chaos Of Existence, But More Than That It's A Crazy Mixed-up Business Of Dismantling Existence Instant By Instant To The Point Where The Original Chaos Is Restored, And Taking Strength From The Uncertainty And The Fear That Chaos Brings To Re-create Existence Instant By Instant. You Won't Find Another Job As Dangerous As That. There Isn't Any Fear In Existence Itself, Or Any Uncertainty, But Living Creates It.

A Man Isn't Tiny Or Giant Enough To Defeat Anything.

Let Us Remember That The Central Reality Must Be Sought In The Writer's Work: It Is What The Writer Chose To Write, Or Was Compelled To Write, That Finally Matters. And Certainly Mishima's Carefully Premeditated Death Is Part Of His Work.

If We Value So Highly The Dignity Of Life, How Can We Not Also Value The Dignity Of Death No Death May Be Called Futile.

Dreams, Memories, The Sacred--they Are All Alike In That They Are Beyond Our Grasp. Once We Are Even Marginally Separated From What We Can Touch, The Object Is Sanctified; It Acquires The Beauty Of The Unattainable, The Quality Of The Miraculous. Everything, Really, Has This Quality Of Sacredness, But We Can Desecrate It At A Touch. How Strange Man Is! His Touch Defiles And Yet He Contains The Source Of Miracles.

An Ugliness Unfurled In The Moonlight And Soft Shadow And Suffused The Whole World. If I Were An Amoeba, He Thought, With An Infinitesimal Body, I Could Defeat Ugliness. A Man Isn’t Tiny Or Giant Enough To Defeat Anything.

Men Had Been Living A Proud Life, Having Felt No Need For The Spirit-until Christianity Invented It.

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

If We Look On Idly, Heaven And Earth Will Never Be Joined. To Join Heaven And Earth, Some Decisive Deed Of Purity Is Necessary. To Accomplish So Resolute An Action, You Have To Stake Your Life, Giving No Thought To Personal Gain Or Loss.

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Perfect Purity Is Possible If You Turn Your Life Into A Line Of Poetry Written With A Splash Of Blood.

The Past Does Not Only Draw Us Back To The Past. There Are Certain Memories Of The Past That Have Strong Steel Springs And, When We Who Live In The Present Touch Them, They Are Suddenly Stretched Taut And Then They Propel Us Into The Future.

Beauty Is Something That Burns The Hand When You Touch It.

We Tend To Suffer From The Illusion That We Are Capable Of Dying For A Belief Or Theory. What Hagakure Is Insisting Is That Even In Merciless Death, A Futile Death That Knows Neither Flower Nor Fruit Has Dignity As The Death Of A Human Being. If We Value So Highly The Dignity Of Life, How Can We Not Also Value The Dignity Of Death? No Death May Be Called Futile.

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