Yamato Quotes

As night fell, Yamamoto, aboard the huge battleship Yamato, steamed eastward at full speed into the night. Far ahead the destroyers went to flank speed to search for the US carriers. Lookouts, with the best night-vision binoculars in the world, swept the night horizon where the very dark sky meets the black ocean. The faintest shape, the tiniest pinprick of light, would show there was something out there, like the superstructure of a ship over the horizon. There was nothing.

Now Karen wants a pill that will make the whole twenty-first century disappear - that will make this unavoidable future vanish. Dr Yamato said that earth was not built for six billion people, all running around and being passionate about being alive. Earth was built for about two million people foraging for roots and grubs.

By any measure the mathematics of the engagement were preposterously against them. The Yamato displaced nearly seventy thousand tons. She alone matched almost exactly in weight all thirteen ships of Taffy 3. Each of her three main gun turrets weighed more than an entire Fletcher-class destroyer.

Yamato: Our moms were close friends who were in the same maternity and gynaecology department, so we've known each other since we were embryos.

The Yamato spirit is not a tame, tender plant, but a wild--in the sense of natural--growth; it is indigenous to the soil; its accidental qualities it may share with the flowers of other lands, but in its essence it remains the original, spontaneous outgrowth of our clime. But its nativity is not its sole claim to our affection. The refinement and grace of its beauty appeal to our æsthetic sense as no other flower can. We cannot share the admiration of the Europeans for their roses, which lack the simplicity of our flower. Then, too, the thorns that are hidden beneath the sweetness of the rose, the tenacity with which she clings to life, as though loth or afraid to die rather than drop untimely, preferring to rot on her stem; her showy colours and heavy odours--all these are traits so unlike our flower, which carries no dagger or poison under its beauty, which is ever ready to depart life at the call of nature, whose colours are never gorgeous, and whose light fragrance never palls. Beauty of colour and of form is limited in its showing; it is a fixed quality of existence, whereas fragrance is volatile, ethereal as the breathing of life. So in all religious ceremonies frankincense and myrrh play a prominent part. There is something spirituelle in redolence. When the delicious perfume of the sakura quickens the morning air, as the sun in its course rises to illumine first the isles of the Far East, few sensations are more serenely exhilarating than to inhale, as it were, the very breath of beauteous day.

I should like to indulge in the pleasures of the seasons—the blossoms, the autumn leaves, the changing skies. People have long weighed the flowering woods in spring against the lovely hues of the autumn moors, and no one seems ever to have shown which one clearly deserves to be preferred. I hear that in China they say nothing equals the brocade of spring flowers, while in Yamato speech 41 we prefer the poignancy of autumn, but my eyes are seduced by each in turn, and I cannot distinguish favorites among the colors of their blossoms or the songs of their birds. I have in mind to fill a garden, however small, with enough flowering spring trees to convey the mood of the season, or to transplant autumn grasses there and, with them, the crickets whose song is so wasted in the fields, and then to give all this to a lady for her pleasure.

Twenty-nine thousand yards,” he said with reluctant professional admiration in his tone. “And goddamn big splashes,” Tuthill added “— from eighteen-inch rifles.” “Yamato!” Torrey shrugged philosophically. “We’ve drawn the jackpot, Tut.

The Yamato ruler was placed on top of this hierarchy, but other clans had their own power

In the Yamato court, the head of the Yamato clan took the mantle as an emperor,

Honshu (formerly called “Yamato”) in the central region, and to the south, Shikoku and Kyushu.

The seat of the imperial state was Yamato (Honshu). Around 270 CE,

The uji in Yamato separated over the issue of adopting Buddhism or Shintoism.

Through official news agencies, Japanese officials warned the population to avoid “unpleasant confrontations” and to act prudently, decorously, and with cooperation, “thereby displaying the true essence of the Yamato race.” The

Selama ini... aku tak pernah sekalipun mengalami perjumpaan tanpa perpisahan...

Pandai tersenyum akan membawa kebahagiaan. Jangan lupa, ya?

There was Asuka, birthplace of Yamato Japan, with its long-vacant burial mounds, surfaces carved with supernatural images of beasts and semi-humans, their makers and their meaning lost in the timeless swaying of the rice paddies around them; Koya-san, the holy mountain, reputedly the resting place of Kobo Daishi, Japan’s great saint, who is said to linger near the mountain’s vast necropolis not dead but meditating, his vigil marked by the mantras of monks that drone among the nearby markers of the dead as ancient and eternal as summer insects in primordial groves;

Nella mia terra natale, lo Yamato, io consacrai il mio corpo e la mia vita alla nostra imperatrice-dea, l’immortale Amaterasu-ō-mi-kami. I servi del suo ordine, in cambio di un servizio che durava una vita intera, ricevevano un corpo artificiale. Si trattava di un involucro meccanico costruito grazie alle conoscenze protoculturiane, provenienti da quella stessa civiltà che aveva costruito eoni prima la medesima Amaterasu.

Ich wusste wohl, dass dieser Weg Im Tod sein Ende finden muss. Es war der Geist des Yamato, Der trieb mich an, um mutig Dem zu trotzen, was geschieht.

sent the Yamato, the largest battleship in the world, on a desperate last mission to ram as many

You're being shackled down by the others. You're a lot stronger than that, I know it. A guy like you is better suited being alone." "You don't know anything. You haven't stopped rambling your bullcrap and you act like you know me. It doesn't matter who says it. But only I can decide where the hell I belong.

The Yamato will be here soon, and it’ll smash those American ships!

We’d all started for the front hall when my father’s throat-clearing stopped us. “Where do you think you’re going?”   Jack and I exchanged wary looks. Parents pretending to be stupid was usually a sign that they were about to try to be – eugh – funny.   “Out, Mr Yamato,” Rachel said patiently, falling for it. “We’re going to walk to this nexus place. Aren’t you coming?”   Dad got out of the armchair and stretched fluidly. “Yes, but I’m not walking it. I assume you’re up for a ride in the Dad Taxi?”   I might be a barely functioning, emotionally shattered control freak, but I wasn’t an idiot. The next word out of my mouth was “Shotgun!”   The others groaned.

gaman—enduring the seemingly unendurable quietly and with patience—and about the spirit of Yamato damashii, the virtue of sticking together no matter what, fighting for your group rather than for yourself. They

Reaching California, many of the Pacific-bound servicemen were caught in limbo, waiting for a ship, and that suited them fine. No one doubted that the route to Tokyo would be long and bloody, and they were in no hurry to travel it. The sweating malarial jungles of the South Pacific, the infinitesimal atolls of the central Pacific, all those obscure islands with their alien names—Efate, Espiritu Santo, Malaita, Guadalcanal, Emirau, Tarawa, Majuro, Kwajalein, Eniwetok, Ulithi, Palau, Saipan, Morotai, Mindanao, Iwo Jima, Okinawa—they would see them soon enough. “Golden Gate in ’48, bread line in ’49.” That pessimistic slogan, which began circulating in 1942, revealed a great deal about the attitudes of the American servicemen who fought in the Pacific. They fully expected that the war would last twice as long as it eventually did, and they assumed, as a matter of course, that the long effort would exhaust and bankrupt the nation. But the words also indicated a gritty, persevering determination. The Japanese had fatally misjudged them. They were not cowed by the prospect of a long war and a destitute homecoming. They would go on fighting, killing, and dying, overcoming fear, fatigue, and sorrow, until they reached the beaches of the detested empire itself. There, in 1945, the irresistible force of the Yankee war machine would meet the immovable object of the “Yamato spirit,” until two mushroom clouds and an emperor’s decision brought the whole execrable business to an end.

He spent the last four years of his life there engaged in practice of Zazen (meditation), painting, and joining tea ceremonies and poetry gatherings with the domain’s elite. Many of Musashi’s famous ink paintings were created during this period of intense personal reflection. By this time, Japan had become politically stable and war was now a distant memory. Musashi, being among the last generations who had personally experienced conflict, sensed that samurai were losing their sense of identity. He resolved to make a pilgrimage to Reigandō Cave43 in 1643 and started writing Gorin-no-sho there, hoping to preserve for posterity his Way, and what he believed to be the very essence of warriorship. A year later he fell ill, and the domain elders encouraged him to return to Kumamoto to be cared for. He continued working on his treatise for five or six months. On the twelfth day of the fifth month of 1645, he passed the not quite finished manuscript to his student Magonojō. He gave away all his worldly possessions, and then wrote Dokkōdō, a brief list of twenty-one precepts that summed up his principles shaped over a lifetime of austere training. He died on the nineteenth day of the fifth month of 1645. It is said that he had taken ill with “dysphagia,” which suggests perhaps that he had terminal stomach cancer. Some say he died of lung cancer. In Bukōden, it is recorded that Musashi was laid in his coffin dressed in full armor and with all his weapons. It evokes a powerful image of a man who had dedicated his whole life to understanding the mind of combat and strategy. As testament once again to the conspiracy theories surrounding Musashi’s life, I am reminded of a bizarre book titled Was Musashi Murdered and Other Questions of Japanese History by Fudo Yamato (Zensho Communications, 1987). In it the author postulates that Musashi’s death was actually assassination through poisoning. The author argues that Musashi and many of his contemporaries such as the priest Takuan, Hosokawa Tadaoki (Tadatoshi’s father) who was suspected of “Christian sympathies,” and even Yagyū Munenori were all viewed with suspicion by the shogunate. He goes so far as to hypothesize that the phrase found at the end of Musashi’s Combat Strategy in 35 Articles “Should there be any entries you are unsure of, please allow me to explain in person…” was actually interpreted by the government as a call for those with anti-shogunate sentiments to gather in order to hatch a seditious plot (p. 20). This is why, Fudo Yamato argues, Musashi and these other notable men of his age all died mysteriously at around the same time.

statue of Buddha and Buddhist scriptures were also sent to the court of Yamato,

in the 1930s, as successive governments used the popularity of sakura, and its imperial links, as propaganda tools among an unquestioning people. Rather than focusing on cherry blossom as a symbol of life, the songs, plays and school textbooks now focused more on death. Classic poems were deliberately misinterpreted, and it became the norm to believe that the Yamato damashii, or ‘true Japanese spirit’, involved a willingness to die for the emperor–Japan’s living god–much as the cherry petals died after a short but glorious life.

Oh, and y'know what makes it even better? All the pretty ladies. Japanese ladies always look so young and elegant. They're so exotic! You, too, miss. You're the picture of Yamato Nadeshiko. You have a real pretty charm to you." *Yamato Nadeshiko means the personification of an idealized Japanese woman.* "Who, me?! Um! N-no, I'm not all that pretty..." "C'mon, Tadokoro! Quit being so humble.

Just how did you know where this guy grew up?!" "Was it mere coincidence?! No way! This has to be deliberate! But how?! What kind of magic trick is this, Miss Yamato Nadeshiko?!" "Um, it's kind of hard to explain but... sometimes there's a certain lilt to how you pronounce your words. It sounded an awful lot like the lyrical accent unique to that area." "Huh?" "Eheh heh... when I'm not paying attention, sometimes my hometown accent slips outdo. Given your outfits and brand choices, I figured you were American... so I wondered if you were born in the South near the Gulf of Mexico... which made me think you probably had gumbo a lot growing up." "Well, I'll be! You managed to deduce all that?" "Was I right? Oh, I'm so glad!" "No way! I don't believe it! Just who are you?! How can you even figure something like that out?!" "Eheheh heh... it wasn't much. I've just been doing some studying, is all." "Voila. C'est votre monnaie. Au revoir, bonne journée." "Merci!" In the few months since earning my Seat on the Council of Ten... I took advantage of some of the perks it gave me... to visit a whole bunch of different countries. I went to all kinds of regions and met all kinds of people... learning firsthand what it feels like to live and thrive there. I experienced the "taste of home" special to each place... and incorporated it into my own cooking... so that I could improve a little as a chef! "And that's how you knew about gumbo? But still! All you did was make a dish from my hometown. That's it! There's no way it should've overwhelmed me this much! Why?! How could you manage something like that?!" "I think it's because, deep down, this is what you've truly been searching for. Um, to go back to what I mentioned to you earlier... I think you might have the wrong idea. I'm pretty sure that isn't what real hospitality is. In your heart, the kind of hospitality you're truly looking for... isn't to be pampered and treated like a king for a day. If that kind of royal luxury was all you were looking for... you wouldn't need to come all the way to Japan. You could have just reserved a suite at any international five-star hotel to get that experience. But you said you specifically liked Japan's rural hot springs resort towns. The kind of places so comfortable and familiar they tug at your heart... places that somehow quietly remind you of home. "I think... no, I know... ... that what you really want... ... is simply a warm, gentle hug.

What are you doing?” I demanded. “Why did you go running off like that? Are you an idiot?”   “Let go!” She struggled, apparently not worried about the curious looks we were getting. “Leave me alone!”   “What do you mean leave you alone?” I hissed, hanging onto her arm doggedly. “What if another Foul Woman turns up, like the one that got Jack?”   She winced. Before I could apologize for my trademark sensitivity, she recovered and poked her finger at my face. “It’s none of your business what I do! I don’t answer to you, Mio Yamato. I’m an adult, for God’s sake! I’m nearly twenty-one years old.”   “Then start acting like it! We’re on the same side here. We are trying to help you.”   “How?” Her voice hit a pitch so shrill that it echoed even in the middle of all the deadening sounds of the city. We got a slew of horrified stares. Rachel didn’t seem to notice. “How? You have no idea what happened to me! You have no idea what’s still happening to me…”   All the fight seemed to drain right out of her. Her tense shoulders sagged and, to my horror, big, fat tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks.   Well, crap.   Jack and me … we didn’t do this. We didn’t cry in front of each other. We didn’t do that Reality TV Big Emotional Moment stuff. It wasn’t us. If this ha d been Rachel’s sister in front of me, I’d have known just how to handle it – let her turn away, let her get herself back together without trying to help. Jack would already have been sucking it up.   But this wasn’t Jack. And Rachel wasn’t sucking it up. She was just standing in front of me in the middle of a crowded London train station courtyard, with one arm wrapped around her middle like she was about to fall apart, crying silent, pathetic tears.   Shinobu’s face filled with a mixture of sadness and understanding. He made an abortive move to touch Rachel, then stopped and stepped back, as if realizing contact from him probably wouldn’t be welcome. “Then you must tell us, Rachel-san,” he said gently. “Trust us with your fears. Trust that we will listen and understand.”   He gave me an urgent look and mimed a hugging movement.   Thanks. Thanks a bunch.   Feeling stiff and uncomfortable, I put my arms around Rachel and patted her on the back. “Shush. It’s all right now. It’s all right.”   To my surprise she flopped against me, burying her head in my shoulder as she cried. It was like … like she’d just been waiting for someone to lean on all along. For the first time it really dawned on me that Rachel and Jack were different. Yeah, they had something of the same attitude, a lot of the same mannerisms, even looked alike if you ignored Jack’s goth thing – but they weren’t the same person. I needed to start seeing Rachel for who she was, not just Jack’s Big Sister.   I hugged her a bit tighter, and patted her back with a bit more enthusiasm. “I’m not going to pretend that I understand exactly how you’re feeling, because … you’re you, and only you can know that. But I can sympathize. Maybe I can even help. Please tell me what’s going on.

Come here; let me look at you.” Mum gestured imperiously, and after a moment’s hesitation, Shinobu bent down so that she could cup his face in her small, delicate fingers. She stared up at him, dark gaze piercing. He stayed still, but behind his back I saw his hands find each other and his fingers lace together, as if it was an effort not to fidget. I didn’t blame him.   “Rachel also says that you helped save her and did a lot of other heroic things. I think you must have a great deal of character to have survived everything that’s happened to you, Shinobu, and I’m very grateful for all that you’ve done for my family. But I’m fully aware that you’ve been hanging out in my house with my underage daughter completely unsupervised the whole time I’ve been gone. I will be keeping my eye on you from now on.”   Shinobu nodded respectfully, not moving out of my mother’s grasp. I couldn’t stand it.   “Mum! Shinobu’s been a − a perfect gentleman!”   “And I was there at least some of the time,” my father put in.   “There is no such thing as a perfect gentleman, Mio. And you don’t count, Takashi. You can never tell when Mio’s lying about anything.” She fixed her eyes back on Shinobu. “I’m not saying that I don't approve. But if you’re the sort of young man that I want for my daughter – and I think you are – you won’t have a problem with me looking out for her. When this mess is sorted out, we can get to know each other properly.”   Shinobu nodded again. Mum smiled at him and slid her hands down to pat his shoulders, and he smiled back, his expression a little dazed. Damn. Dazzled by Mum Power.   “‘This mess’ being … the imminent apocalypse?” my dad asked, apparently unable to leave well enough alone.   Mum ignored his tone magnificently. “Yes, that. Now, could anyone else murder a sandwich and a cup of tea? Because I’ve had a heck of a day.”   Jack and Hikaru, who’d retreated to the till area with Ebisu during the family drama, crept out. Jack raised her hand. “I’m starving.”   “Me too,” Hikaru said.   “Ah, the appetites of the young,” Ebisu said, smiling serenely as he limped towards my mother and offered her his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Yamato. You are almost exactly as I had imagined. Let’s go upstairs to my flat and see what we can find to eat, yes?”   “You might want to put me in charge of that,” my dad said, hurrying after them. “She’s a terrible cook.”   “Stuff it,” my mum retorted as Ebisu led her away. “I’m still not talking to you.”   And just like that, our motley crew had another member. My mum.   Sweet baby Jebus, how did this happen?