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Mountain-rose petals Falling, falling, falling now... Waterfall music

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
Music
Waterfall
Haiku
Waterfalls
Petals
Falling
Rose
Mountain
Fall

More quotes by Matsuo Basho

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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.
Matsuo Basho
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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.
Matsuo Basho
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Friends part foreverwild geese lost in cloud
Matsuo Basho
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He who creates three to five haiku poems during a lifetime is a haiku poet. He who attains to completes ten is a master.
Matsuo Basho
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Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
Matsuo Basho
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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?
Matsuo Basho
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Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
Matsuo Basho
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Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought.
Matsuo Basho
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How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
Matsuo Basho
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On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
Matsuo Basho
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The moon is brighter since the barn burned.
Matsuo Basho
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Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
Matsuo Basho
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Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
Matsuo Basho
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The basis of art is change in the universe.
Matsuo Basho
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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.
Matsuo Basho
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The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
Matsuo Basho
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Even in Kyoto/Hearing the cuckoo's cry/I long for Kyoto
Matsuo Basho
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All my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.
Matsuo Basho
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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.
Matsuo Basho
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I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories.
Matsuo Basho