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Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.

Matsuo Basho

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Matsuo Basho
Age: 50 †
Born: 1644
Born: January 1
Died: 1694
Died: November 28
Artist
Poet
Writer
Vaxjo
Matsuo Basho
Bashō
Bashô
Basho
Matsuo Bashou
Better
Live
Real
Writing
Life
Lead
Poetry
Write
Beautiful

More quotes by Matsuo Basho

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The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
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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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April's air stirs in Willow-leaves...a butterfly Floats and balances
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The fact that Saigyo composed a poem that begins, I shall be unhappy without loneliness, shows that he made loneliness his master.
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On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
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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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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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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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Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
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Between our two lives there is also the life of the cherry blossom.
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Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
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First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
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Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
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How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
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Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
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Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
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My body, now close to fifty years of age, has become an old tree that bears bitter peaches, a snail which has lost its shell, a bagworm separated from its bag it drifts with the winds and clouds that know no destination. Morning and night I have eaten traveler's fare, and have held out for alms a pilgrim's wallet.
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An autumn night - don’t think your life didn’t matter.
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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.
Matsuo Basho