that they are less Japanese, or I am, in truth, more Japanese. How remote they are, being “un-Japanese,” from me as I hope to put myself side by side with the old centuries (though I am not sure what century) who better controlled principle and flame for the unity in complexity; always think it is perfect nonsense to say that the older time was simplicity. The older age well understood how to collect the passion and force, to use another word, to put colour into the time’s mind. When I say that the present Japanese are un-Japanese, I like to dwell on their hatred of freedom while professing love for it; in their anxiety of knowledge I see their cowardice.
The occasion when people find me a little too difficult always falls on when I myself feel a little too shy. It is strange that they think me delightful when I feel absolutely hating myself.
How many people understand that pencils were to write their mind. There are people who think that the temples at Nikko were built in one day.
