The fact that Saigyo composed a poem that begins, “I shall be unhappy without loneliness,” shows that he made loneliness his master.
MATSUO BASHOPoverty’s child – he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
More Matsuo Basho Quotes
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A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.
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Without bitterest cold that penetrates to the very bone, how can plum blossoms send forth their fragrance all over the world?
MATSUO BASHO -
A flute with no holes is not a flute.
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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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The basis of art is change in the universe.
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A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
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All my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.
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Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
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The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
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The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
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Learn the rules, and then forget them.
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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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Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.
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Between our two lives there is also the life of the cherry blossom.
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Don’t imitate me / we are not two halves / of a muskmelon.
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Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.
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First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
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At the ancient pond the frog plunges into the sound of water.
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The journey itself is my home.
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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.
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Poverty’s child – he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
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Come out to view / the truth of flowers blooming / in poverty.
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Summer grasses — all that remains of great soldiers’ imperial dreams.
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The moon is brighter since the barn burned.
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Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought.
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Come, butterfly It’s late- We’ve miles to go together.
MATSUO BASHO