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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
Rose
Mountain
Fall
Music
Waterfall
Haiku
Waterfalls
Petals
Falling

More quotes by Matsuo Basho

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All my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.
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Come, see the true flowers of this pained world.
Matsuo Basho
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Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
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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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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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The oak tree: not interested in cherry blossoms.
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Friends part foreverwild geese lost in cloud
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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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On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
Matsuo Basho
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I felt quite at home, / As if it were mine sleeping lazily / In this house of fresh air.
Matsuo Basho
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Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
Matsuo Basho
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From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
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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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Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.
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Even in Kyoto/Hearing the cuckoo's cry/I long for Kyoto
Matsuo Basho
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Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
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Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
Matsuo Basho
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Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate
Matsuo Basho
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Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
Matsuo Basho