“The moon is brighter since the barn burned.”

Go to the pine if you want to learn about the pine, or to the bamboo if you want to learn about the bamboo. And in doing so, you must leave your subjective preoccupation with yourself. Otherwise you impose yourself on the object and you do not learn.

Don’t imitate me / we are not two halves / of a muskmelon.

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.

These pirates in your life, plundering the hands of time. Dimming your light that could shine you so brightly. The great imposing sails leading you towards the lighthouse. Preventing you from an almighty shipwreck.

She is the light, making my life brighter.

The saddest days will bring out the brightest.

Even if I have no other makeup on, I always want a nude lip, and if I’m going to do a bright, I want it to be matte.

The darker the night, the brighter the stars, The deeper the grief, the closer is God!

See between the darks of night, stars always emit their brightest shine.

The lantern of my dreams, the more it burns, the brighter it seems.

Once I was the sun. The sun that burnt so bright it lit up everyone’s sky. The sun ran out of fuel. The sun that died under its own weight. The sun that sucks on the light of others now. The sun is now a black hole, itself.