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Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.

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
Glimmering
Plunge
Hidden
Deep
Order
Enough
Something

More quotes by Matsuo Basho

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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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Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
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Why so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice... Or backyard love?
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The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
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Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought.
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The old pond, ah! A frog jumps in: The water's sound.
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Go to the pine if you want to learn about the pine, or to the bamboo if you want to learn about the bamboo. And in doing so, you must leave your subjective preoccupation with yourself. Otherwise you impose yourself on the object and you do not learn.
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Sabi is the color of haikai. It is different from tranquility. For example, if an old man dresses up in armor and helmet and goes to the battlefield, or in colorful brocade kimono, attending (his lord) at a banquet, [sabi] is like this old figure.
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April's air stirs in Willow-leaves...a butterfly Floats and balances
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On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
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A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.
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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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Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
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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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Spring rain conveyed under the trees in drops.
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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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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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How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
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Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
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