Bashō Matsuo

“It is only a barbarous mind that sees other than the flower, merely an animal mind that dreams of other than the moon.”

“This autumn-why am I growing old?bird disappearing among clouds.”

“Twilight whippoorwill...Whistle on, sweet deepenerOf dark loneliness”

“Why so scrawny, cat?Starving for fat fish or mice...Or backyard love?”

“The journey itself is my home.”

“ChrysanthemumSilence - monk Sips his morning tea.”

“Awakened at midnightby the sound of the water jarcracking from the ice”

“Winter solitude-in a world of one colourthe sound of the wind.”

“Dead my old fine hopesAnd dry my dreaming but still...Iris, blue each spring”

“Not knowing the name of the tree,I stood in the floodof its sweet scent.”

“Describe plum-blossoms?Better than my verses...whiteWordless Butterflies”

“Had I crossed the passSupported by a stick,I would have spared myselfThe fall from the horse.”

“When a country is defeated, there remain only mountains and rivers, and on a ruined castle in spring only grasses thrive. I sat down on my hat and wept bitterly till I almost forgot time.A thicket of summer grassIs all that remainsOf the dreams and ambitionsOf ancient warriors.”

“Summer grasses,All that remainsOf soldiers' dreams”

“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.”

“On this roadwhere nobody else travelsautumn nightfall.”

“Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.”