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.
MATSUO BASHOThere is nothing you can see that is not a flower; there is nothing you can think that is not the moon.
More Matsuo Basho Quotes
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Calm and serene The sound of a cicada Penetrates the rock.
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For this lovely bowl let us arrange these flowers since there is no rice.
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Friends part forever wild geese lost in cloud.
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A flute with no holes is not a flute.
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Spring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps’ nest.
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Why so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice… Or backyard love?
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At the ancient pond the frog plunges into the sound of water.
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Sadly, I part from you; Like a clam torn from its shell, I go, and autumn too.
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Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?
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Come, see the true flowers of this pained world.
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Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
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With every gust of wind, the butterfly changes its place on the willow.
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All my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.
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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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Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
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The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
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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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This autumn- why am I growing old? bird disappearing among clouds.
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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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Old dark sleepy pool… Quick unexpected frog Goes plop! Watersplash!
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Do not resemble me-Never be like a musk melon Cut in two identical halves.
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Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
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On a bare branch a crow is perched – autumn evening.
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The basis of art is change in the universe.
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Sitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes, and the grass grows, by itself.
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Year by year, the monkey’s mask reveals the monkey.
MATSUO BASHO