Year's End Still In Straw Hat And

Summer Grasses — All That Remains Of Great Soldiers' Imperial Dreams.

My Body, Now Close To Fifty Years Of Age, Has Become An Old Tree That Bears Bitter Peaches, A Snail Which Has Lost Its Shell, A Bagworm Separated From Its Bag; It Drifts With The Winds And Clouds That Know No Destination. Morning And Night I Have Eaten Traveler's Fare, And Have Held Out For Alms A Pilgrim's Wallet.

Real Poetry, Is To Lead A Beautiful Life. To Live Poetry Is Better Than To Write It.

The Fact That Saigyo Composed A Poem That Begins, "i Shall Be Unhappy Without Loneliness," Shows That He Made Loneliness His Master.

Plunge Deep Enough In Order To See Something That Is Hidden And Glimmering.