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Seek on high bare trails Sky-reflecting violets... Mountain-top jewels
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
Mountain
Violets
High
Violet
Trails
Jewels
Bare
Reflecting
Sky
Seek
More quotes by Matsuo Basho
Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.
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When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.
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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 oak tree: not interested in cherry blossoms.
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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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Mountain-rose petals Falling, falling, falling now... Waterfall music
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Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
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Before enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water. After enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water.
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April's air stirs in Willow-leaves...a butterfly Floats and balances
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First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
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From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
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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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Friends part foreverwild geese lost in cloud
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Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
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The haiku that reveals seventy to eighty percent of its subject is good. Those that reveal fifty to sixty percent, we never tire of.
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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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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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Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
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Twilight whippoorwill... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness
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Between our two lives there is also the life of the cherry blossom.
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