“For this lovely bowl let us arrange these flowers since there is no rice.”

This autumn- why am I growing old? bird disappearing among clouds.

Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?

Awakened at midnight by the sound of the water jar cracking from the ice.

Old pond, leap-splash – a frog.

No matter where your interest lies, you will not be able to accomplish anything unless you bring your deepest devotion to it.

A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.

Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.

Come, butterfly It’s late- We’ve miles to go together.

How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.

April’s air stirs in Willow-leaves, a butterfly Floats and balances.

There is nothing you can see that is not a flower; there is nothing you can think that is not the moon.

I hope to have gathered To repay your kindness The willow leaves Scattered in the garden.

A flute with no holes is not a flute.

Go to the object. Leave your subjective preoccupation with yourself. Do not impose yourself on the object. Become one with the object. Plunge deep enough into the object to see something like a hidden glimmering there.

Learn how to listen as things speak for themselves.

A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.

The day I know who I am, why and how is known of me, I will be me, Me: free from thorns and petals that go round and round, in heads and heels, and would reveal me, me indeed!

Sunflowers never beg to be adored.

Stretching his hand up to reach the stars, too often man forgets the flowers at his feet.

You are as beautiful as a blooming flower.

And when instead of flowers your heart grows thorns – that’s when you know it does not love.

Hear the universe sing with every shooting star, blooming petal, and pines in the wind- Love will find you.

The world was expecting her to be a beautiful flower. Society behaved in such a way that turned her into a fierce sword.

And like flowers under the sun’s yellow rays, you will bloom again.