The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

was that Tōru probably knew.
If the shadow was the substance, then the all too
transparent something clinging to it must be wings.
Fly! Fly over the vulgarity! The limbs and the heads
were a superfluity, too concrete. If the contempt in him
was only a little stronger, Tōru could fly off, the girl’s
hand in his; but Honda had forbidden it. Honda longed
with all the powers of his senile impotence to put his
envy to work and give the two of them wings; but not
even envy burned very hot in him any more. Only now
did he see it for what it was, the most fundamental
emotion he had felt toward Kiyoaki and Isao, the
source of all lyricism in intellectual man, envy.
Very well, then. Suppose he were to think of Tōru
and Momoko as the basest, the least tempting
morsels of youth. They would act, fall into each other’s
arms, like a pair of puppets. He only had to move a
finger. He moved two or three of the fingers on his
stick. The pair on the lawn walked toward the cliff
path.
“Just look at them, would you. Here we are waiting,
and it seems they mean to go farther away.”
Taeko stood with her hand on her husband’s elbow.
There was a touch of excitement in her voice.
Facing the sea, the young couple went through the
shrubbery and sat down on one of the rough wooden