Bashō Matsuo Quotes

If I had the knackI'd sing likeCherry flakes falling
Bashō Matsuo
Many solemn nights Blond moon, we stand and marvel...Sleeping our noons away
Bashō Matsuo
At one time I was weary of verse writing, and wanted to give it up. At another time I was determined to be a poet until I could establish a proud name over others. The alternatives battled in my mind and made my life restless.
Bashō Matsuo
Here is a greedy man who keeps to himselfThe beautiful pears ripe in his garden.
Bashō Matsuo
Awakened at midnightby the sound of the water jarcracking from the ice
Bashō Matsuo
ChrysanthemumSilence - monk Sips his morning tea.
Bashō Matsuo
Why so scrawny, cat?Starving for fat fish or mice...Or backyard love?
Bashō Matsuo
Twilight whippoorwill...Whistle on, sweet deepenerOf dark loneliness
Bashō Matsuo
Had I crossed the passSupported by a stick,I would have spared myselfThe fall from the horse.
Bashō Matsuo
Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
Bashō Matsuo
The journey itself is my home.
Bashō Matsuo
On this roadwhere nobody else travelsautumn nightfall.
Bashō Matsuo
It is only a barbarous mind that sees other than the flower, merely an animal mind that dreams of other than the moon.
Bashō Matsuo
Not knowing the name of the tree,I stood in the floodof its sweet scent.
Bashō Matsuo
Describe plum-blossoms?Better than my verses...whiteWordless Butterflies
Bashō Matsuo
When composing a verse let there not be a hair's breath separating your mind from what you write; composition of a poem must be done in an instant, like a woodcutter felling a huge tree or a swordsman leaping at a dangerous enemy.
Bashō Matsuo
Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.
Bashō Matsuo
Winter solitude-in a world of one colourthe sound of the wind.
Bashō Matsuo
When a country is defeated, there remain only mountains and rivers, and on a ruined castle in spring only grasses thrive. I sat down on my hat and wept bitterly till I almost forgot time.A thicket of summer grassIs all that remainsOf the dreams and ambitionsOf ancient warriors.
Bashō Matsuo
Dead my old fine hopesAnd dry my dreaming but still...Iris, blue each spring
Bashō Matsuo
Summer grasses,All that remainsOf soldiers' dreams
Bashō Matsuo
This autumn-why am I growing old?bird disappearing among clouds.
Bashō Matsuo