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Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?
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
Fans
Ends
Scribbled
Farewell
Tear
Summer
Tears
More quotes by Matsuo Basho
Seek on high bare trails Sky-reflecting violets... Mountain-top jewels
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the universe and its beings are a complementarity of empty infinity, intimate interrelationships, and total uniqueness of each and every being.
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Why so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice... Or backyard love?
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Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
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Mountain-rose petals Falling, falling, falling now... Waterfall music
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Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
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The oak tree: not interested in cherry blossoms.
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A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.
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Before enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water. After enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water.
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Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate
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How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
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Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old - / These fields and mountains!
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Spring rain conveyed under the trees in drops.
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I felt quite at home, / As if it were mine sleeping lazily / In this house of fresh air.
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When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.
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Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
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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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Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
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The old pond, ah! A frog jumps in: The water's sound.
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I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories.
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