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Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.

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
Butterfly
Miles
Late
Together
Come

More quotes by Matsuo Basho

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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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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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The oak tree: not interested in cherry blossoms.
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An autumn night - don’t think your life didn’t matter.
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What is important is to keep our mind high in the world of true understanding, and returning to the world of our daily experience to seek therein the truth of beauty. No matter what we may be doing at a given moment, we must not forget that is has a bearing upon our everlasting self which is poetry.
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Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old - / These fields and mountains!
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Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
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I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories.
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Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
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Spring rain conveyed under the trees in drops.
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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?
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Why so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice... Or backyard love?
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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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Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.
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Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die
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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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Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.
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Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
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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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Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
Matsuo Basho