Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
The journey itself is my home.
Old pond, frog jumps in - plop.
Old pond, leap-splash - a frog.
A flute with no holes is not a flute.
Learn the rules, and then forget them.
Just washed, How chill The white leeks!
Year's end still in straw hat and sandals
The moon is brighter since the barn burned.
The basis of art is change in the universe.
Friends part foreverwild geese lost in cloud
Orchidbreathing incense into butterfly's wings
Spring rain conveyed under the trees in drops.
First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
Come, see the true flowers of this pained world.
The oak tree: not interested in cherry blossoms.
When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.
Year by year, the monkey's mask reveals the monkey
On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
Learn how to listen as things speak for themselves.
All my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.
The old pond, ah! A frog jumps in: The water's sound.
How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
Year's end, all corners of this floating world, swept.
I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories.
If I had the knack I'd sing like Cherry flakes falling
Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
An autumn night - don’t think your life didn’t matter.
Even in Kyoto/Hearing the cuckoo's cry/I long for Kyoto
Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.
Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
Calm and serene The sound of a cicada Penetrates the rock.
Don't imitate me / we are not two halves / of a muskmelon.
Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die
At the ancient pond the frog plunges into the sound of water
Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
Harvest moon: around the pond I wander and the night is gone.
Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
Come out to view / the truth of flowers blooming / in poverty.
Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
How much I desire! Inside my little satchel, the moon, and flowers
This autumn- why am I growing old? bird disappearing among clouds.
Spring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps' nest.
Between our two lives there is also the life of the cherry blossom.
April's air stirs in Willow-leaves...a butterfly Floats and balances
Summer grasses — all that remains of great soldiers' imperial dreams.
Mountain-rose petals Falling, falling, falling now... Waterfall music
Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.