All six of us are geniuses. And the world, as you know, is empty. - Yukio Mishima

How oddly situated a man is apt to find himself at the age of thirty-eight! His youth belongs to the distant past. Yet the period of memory beginning with the end of youth and extending to the present has left him not a single vivid impression. And therefore he persists in feeling that nothing more than a fragile barrier separates him from his youth. He is forever hearing with the utmost clarity the sounds of this neighboring domain, but there is no way to penetrate the barrier.

Why are we all burdened with the duty to destroy everything, change everything, entrust everything to impermanency? Is it this unpleasant duty that the world calls life?

"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."