Old dark sleepy pool… Quick unexpected frog Goes plop! Watersplash!
MATSUO BASHOHarvest moon: around the pond I wander and the night is gone.
More Matsuo Basho Quotes
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On a bare branch a crow is perched – autumn evening.
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Old pond, frog jumps in – plop.
MATSUO BASHO -
Traveler’s heart. Never settled long in one place. Like a portable fire.
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No matter where your interest lies, you will not be able to accomplish anything unless you bring your deepest devotion to it.
MATSUO BASHO -
When composing a verse let there not be a hair’s breath separating your mind from what you write; composition of a poem must be done in an instant, like a woodcutter felling a huge tree or a swordsman leaping at a dangerous enemy.
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I hope to have gathered To repay your kindness The willow leaves Scattered in the garden.
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The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
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Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.
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All my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.
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Not to think of yourself / as someone who did not count — / Festival of the Souls.
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He who creates three to five haiku poems during a lifetime is a haiku poet. He who attains to completes ten is a master.
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When your consciousness has become ripe in true zazen-pure like clear water, like a serene mountain lake, not moved by any wind-then anything may serve as a medium for realization.
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The universe and its beings are a complementarity of empty infinity, intimate interrelationships, and total uniqueness of each and every being.
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Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
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A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
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A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.
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Learn the rules, and then forget them.
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Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die.
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Awakened at midnight by the sound of the water jar cracking from the ice.
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The basis of art is change in the universe.
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Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
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The desire to break the silence with constant human noise is, I believe, precisely an avoidance of the sacred terror of that divine encounter.
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Come, see the true flowers of this pained world.
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The moon and sun are travelers through eternity. Even the years wander on. Whether drifting through life on a boat or climbing toward old age leading a horse, each day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
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How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
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Seek not the paths of the ancients; Seek that which the ancients sought.
MATSUO BASHO