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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
Order
Enough
Something
Glimmering
Plunge
Hidden
Deep

More quotes by Matsuo Basho

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How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
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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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On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
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From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
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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.
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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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Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.
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Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
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Why so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice... Or backyard love?
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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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Make the universe your companion, always bearing in mind the true nature of things-mountains and rivers, trees and grasses, and humanity-and enjoy the falling blossoms and the scattering leaves.
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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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Even in Kyoto/Hearing the cuckoo's cry/I long for Kyoto
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The old pond, ah! A frog jumps in: The water's sound.
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Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
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Before enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water. After enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water.
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If I had the knack I'd sing like Cherry flakes falling
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Spring rain conveyed under the trees in drops.
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Twilight whippoorwill... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness
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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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