Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
MATSUO BASHOFrom all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
More Matsuo Basho Quotes
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With every gust of wind, the butterfly changes its place on the willow.
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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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There came a day when the clouds drifting along with the wind aroused a wanderlust in me, and I set off on a journey to roam along the seashores
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Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
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Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
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April’s air stirs in Willow-leaves, a butterfly Floats and balances.
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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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Come, butterfly It’s late- We’ve miles to go together.
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Don’t imitate me / we are not two halves / of a muskmelon.
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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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Summer grasses — all that remains of great soldiers’ imperial dreams.
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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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Awakened at midnight by the sound of the water jar cracking from the ice.
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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.
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The journey itself is my home.
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Before enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water. After enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water.
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Poverty’s child – he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
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I felt quite at home, / As if it were mine sleeping lazily / In this house of fresh air.
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I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories.
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Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
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Breaking the silence Of an ancient pond, A frog jumped into water – A deep resonance.
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How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
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Year by year, the monkey’s mask reveals the monkey.
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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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Traveler’s heart. Never settled long in one place. Like a portable fire.
MATSUO BASHO