iiinova — where your digital self keeps evolving

it was a posture that made him look exactly like a murderer brought to bay.

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his muscular arms, the arms of a praetorian guard accustomed to bending of bow and wielding of sword, are raised at a graceful angle, and his bound wrists are crossed directly over his head.

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how cursed a thing it was! yes, in the cries of cicadas that echoed from the surrounding hills, I could hear this eternity, which was like a curse on my head, which had shut me up in golden plaster.

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his face is turned slightly upward and his eyes are open wide, gazing with profound tranquility upon the glory of heaven.

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the loss of self through sex gives us little satisfaction.

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could this have been love? grant it to be one form of love, for even though at first glance it seemed to retain its pristine form forever, simply repeating that form over and over again, it too had its own unique sort of debasement and decay. and it

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how could anyone have expected such a person to have a secret, inner life? all one could hope to find in him was the pattern of that forgotten perfection which the rest of us have lost in some far distant past.

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in the pupils of his eyes there lingered the mysterious and eternal horizon that the sea leaves as a keepsake deep in the eyes of all who are born at the seaside and forced to depart from it.

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I realised that his death severed the one and only thread that still connected me with the bright world of daylight. it was because of the lost daylight, the lost brightness, the lost summer, that I was crying.

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there is no expression whatsoever. the picture has a genuinely chilling, foreboding quality—— as if it caught him in the act of dying as he sat before the camera.

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to see human beings in agony, to see them covered in blood and to hear their death groans, makes people humble.

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beauty is a terrible and awful thing!

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the realistic portion of my mind sensed the artificiality in the eternal protestations with which I persuaded myself that I was in love with her, and it fought back with this spiteful fatigue. there seemed to be some terrible poison in this mental

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it was this combination —— one part unconscious belief, one part unconscious despair —— that so quickened my desires that they appeared to be desperate ambitions.

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seeing is the antithesis to existing.

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knowledge is the sea of humanity, the field of humanity, the general condition of human existence.

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that to fall, not to fly, is in the order of things, more natural by far than improbable passion? is the blue of the sky then a dream?

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I have never seen a child with such an unaccountable expression.

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luring me on, and my mind, higher—— ever higher, up into the sky, drawing me ceaselessly up, to heights far, far above the human?

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I felt something like a yearning for a piercing sorrow, a body — wrenching sorrow.

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other people must be destroyed. in order that I might truly face the sun, the world itself must be destroyed.

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my legs carried me running toward something that in any case was not Death —— whatever it was, it was not Death.

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let the darkness in my heart become equal to the darkness of the night that surrounds those innumerable lights!

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a type of cipher seemed to operate in my general experience of life. as in a corridor of mirrors, a single image is reflected again, and again to an endless depth. things that I had seen in the past were clearly reflected on those that I had

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" but I've made up my mind. " " you say that because you don't realize what it means. but then the day for volunteering has already passed. so there's nothing to do about it now. it's your destiny. “

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nothingness was the very structure of this beauty.

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it’s never at such times that we become cruel or bloodthirsty. no, it’s a beautiful spring afternoon like this that makes people suddenly become cruel.

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I was attacked by unendurable grief.

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did the soft earth turn to steel only to show me my own softness?

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did it mean that I wanted to live after all?

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seeing is the antithesis to existing.

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my organs spilled from the cavity of my chest in a grotesque sense of love.

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over and over again I was tormented by vain doubts —— even as I continue being tormented today —— but I regarded such doubts as only another sort of temptation to sin, and remained unshaken in my deterministic views.

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the war had produced a strangely sentimental maturity in us. it arose from our thinking of life as something that would end abruptly in our twenties; we never even considered the possibility of there being anything beyond those few remaining years. life

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I admitted to myself that I could never become him and, upon further consideration, that my desire to become like him had in fact been love for him.

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they stood looking down at my corpse.

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Ryotaro alone declares “ I am happy, " and convinces himself that it is true.

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what transforms this world is knowledge. do you see what I mean? nothing else can change anything in this world. knowledge alone is capable of transforming the world, while at the same time leaving it exactly as is. when you look at the world with

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I have never seen a child with such an unaccountable expression.

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nothingness was the very structure of this beauty.

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and did the heavens abet the plan to punish me? for not believing in myself or for believing too much; too eager to know where my allegiance lay or vainly assuming that already I knew all; for wanting to fly off, to the unknown or the known; both

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