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The Hound of The Baskervilles

‘It may cause him to be more cautious, or it may drive him to desperate measures at once. Like most clever criminals, he may be too confident in his own cleverness and imagine that he has completely deceived us.’
from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle “The Hound of The Baskervilles”

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The Hound of The Baskervilles

One of Sherlock Holmes’s defects – if, indeed, one may call it a defect – was that he was exceedingly loath to communicate his full plans to any other person until the instant of their fulfilment. Partly it came to doubt from his own masterful nature, which loved to dominate and surprise those who were around him. Partly also from his professional caution, which urged him never to take any chances.
from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle “The Hound of The Baskervilles”

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The Decay of The Angel

Where the cypress grove gave away to a grove of cryptomeria, there stood a lone nemu tree. The soft clusters of leaves in among the hard needles of the cryptomerias were like wraiths, like afternoon slumber. They made him think of Thailand. A white butterfly from the nemu led him on his way.

from Yukio Mishima “The Decay of The Angel” (Translated by Edward G. Seidensticker)

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The Decay of The Angel

I have known secret pride and pleasure in seeing the concept on the horizon gradually take shape. I have put my hand in from outside the world and created something, and I have not tasted the sensation of being brought into the world. I have not felt myself brought in like laundry brought in before a shower. No rain has fallen to give me drowning, my clarity has been confident of proper sensual rescue. For the ship has always passed. It has never stopped. The sea winds have turned everything to spotted marble, the sun has turned the heart into crystal.

from Yukio Mishima “The Decay of The Angel” (Translated by Edward G. Seidensticker)

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Norwegian Wood

“So after he died, I didn’t know what it meant to love another person.”
She reached for her wineglass on the table but only managed to knock it over, spilling wine on the carpet. I crouched down and retrived the glass, setting it on the table. Did she want to drink some more? I asked. Naoko remained silent for a while., then suddenly burst into tears, trembling all over. Slumping forward, she same suffocating violence as she had that night with me.

from Haruki Murakami “Norwegian Wood” (Translated by Jay Rubin)”