Quotes by Bashō Matsuo

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

Summer grasses,All that remainsOf soldiers dreams

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

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.

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

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

When composing a verse let there not be a hairs 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.

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

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

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

On this roadwhere nobody else travelsautumn nightfall.

The journey itself is my home.

Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.

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

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

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

ChrysanthemumSilence - monk Sips his morning tea.

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

Here is a greedy man who keeps to himselfThe beautiful pears ripe in his garden.

At one time I was weary of verse writing, and wanted to give it up. At another time I was determined to be a poet until I could establish a proud name over others. The alternatives battled in my mind and made my life restless.