There is nothing you can see that is not a flower; there is nothing you can think that is not the moon.
MATSUO BASHOGo 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.
More Matsuo Basho Quotes
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Summer grasses — all that remains of great soldiers’ imperial dreams.
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Old pond, leap-splash – a frog.
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Calm and serene The sound of a cicada Penetrates the rock.
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Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
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An autumn night – don’t think your life didn’t matter.
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Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die.
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Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old – / These fields and mountains!
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On a bare branch a crow is perched – autumn evening.
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How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
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At the ancient pond the frog plunges into the sound of water.
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Make the universe your companion, always bearing in mind the true nature of things-mountains and rivers, trees and grasses, and humanity-and enjoy the falling blossoms and the scattering leaves.
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Come out to view / the truth of flowers blooming / in poverty.
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A flute with no holes is not a flute.
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Come, butterfly It’s late- We’ve miles to go together.
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With every gust of wind, the butterfly changes its place on the willow.
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Learn how to listen as things speak for themselves.
MATSUO BASHO -
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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When I speak My lips feel cold – The autumn wind.
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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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Year by year, the monkey’s mask reveals the monkey.
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Not to think of yourself / as someone who did not count — / Festival of the Souls.
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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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Poverty’s child – he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
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Do not resemble me-Never be like a musk melon Cut in two identical halves.
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Spring rain conveyed under the trees in drops.
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Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.
MATSUO BASHO