Human life is limited but I would like to live forever. - Yukio Mishima

Isao had never felt that he might want to be a woman. He had never wished for anything else but to be a man, live in a manly way, die a manly death. To be thus a man was to give constant proof of one’s manliness–to be more a man today than yesterday, more a man tomorrow than today. To be a man was to forge ever upward toward the peak of manhood, there to die amid the white snows of that peak.

But to be a woman? It seemed to mean being a woman at the beginning and being a woman forever.

In Kyoto I never experienced an air raid, but once when I was sent to the main factory in Osaka with some orders for spare parts for aircraft, there happened to be an attack and I saw one of the factory workers being carried out on a stretcher with his intestines exposed.
What is so ghastly about exposed intestines? Why, when we see the insides of a human being do we have to cover our eyes in terror? Why are people so shocked by the sight of blood pouring out? Why are a man's intestines ugly? Is it not exactly the same in quality as the beauty of youthful, glossy skin? What sort of face would Tsurukawa make if I were to say that it was from him I had learned this manner of speaking - a manner of thinking that transformed my own ugliness into nothingness? Why does there seem to be something inhuman about regarding human beings like roses and refusing to make any distinction between the inside of their bodies and the outside? If only human beings could reverse their spirits and their bodies, could gracefully turn them inside out like rose petals and expose them to the spring breeze and the sun . . .

"As to animals," said the Count unexpectedly, "whatever one says, I maintain that the rodent family has a certain charm about it."
"The rodent family . . . ?" replied the Baron, not getting the drift at all.
"Rabbits, marmots, squirrels, and the like."
"You have pets of that sort, sir?"
"No, sir, not at all. Too much of an odor. It would be all over the house."
"Ah, I see. Very charming, but you wouldn't have them in the house, is that it?"
"Well, sir, in the first place, they seem to have been ignored by the poets, d'you see. And what has no place in a poem has no place in my house. That's my family rule."
"I see."
"No, I don't keep them as pets. But they're such fuzzy, timid little creatures that I can't help thinking there's no more charming animal."
"Yes, Count, I quite agree."
"Actually, sir, every charming creature, no matter what sort, seems to have a strong odor."
"Yes, indeed, sir. I believe one might say so."