Matsuo Bashō

Come, let us go snow-viewing till we are buried.

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

The moon and sun are eternal travelers. Even the years wander on.

Learn about pines from the pine, and about bamboo from the bamboo.

Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise; seek what they sought.

An old silent pond. A frog jumps into the pond — splash! Silence again.

In this mortal frame of mine, which is made of a hundred bones and nine orifices, there is something, and this something is called a wind-swept spirit, for lack of a better name.

Do not follow in the footsteps of the old masters, but seek what they sought — and find it in the mountains, the rivers, and the open sky.

Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die.

Year after year, on the monkey's face — a monkey's mask.

Sitting quietly, doing nothing, spring comes, and the grass grows by itself.

The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.

Even in Kyoto — hearing the cuckoo's cry — I long for Kyoto.