Quotes from Li Bai

The birds have vanished into the sky, and now the last cloud drains away. We sit together, the mountain and me, until only the mountain remains.

Gently I stir a white feather fan, With open shirt sitting in a green wood. I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone; A wind from the pine-tree trickles on my bare head.

Growing older, I love only quietness: who need be concerned with the things of this world? Looking back, what better plan than this: returning to the grove.

The living is a passing traveler; The dead, a man come home.

Palace women like blossoms filled springtime galleries here. There's nothing left now--only quail breaking into flight.

My thoughts of longing are like the smoke grass, That grows always in profusion, winter or spring!

Here! is this you on the top of Fan-ko Mountain, Wearing a huge hat in the noon-day sun? How thin, how wretchedly thin, you have grown! You must have been suffering from poetry again.

A river town. The autumn rain has stopped. Our wine is gone. So, farewell!

Gods have bestowed our genius on us; They will also find its use some day.

All the birds have flown up and gone; A lonely cloud floats leisurely by. We never tire of looking at each other-- Only the mountain and I.

To wash and rinse our souls of their age-old sorrows, We drained a hundred jugs of wine. A splendid night it was.... In the clear moonlight we were loath to go to bed, But at last drunkenness overtook us.

The living is a passing traveler; The dead, a man come home.

Your nobility looms up like a high mountain, Too high for others to attain to; But they may breathe the rare fragrance That your soul imparts.

My life is a wasted thing, My garden and fields have long been buried under weeds. What am I to do so late in my years But sing away and let alone the imperial gate of gold?

Now let you and me buy wine today! Why say we have not the price? My horse spotted with five flowers, My fur-coat worth a thousand pieces of gold, These I will take out, and call my boy To barter them for sweet wine. And with you twain, let me forget The sorrow of ten thousand ages!

One brief journey betwixt heaven and earth, Then, alas! we are the same old dust of ten thousand ages.

Here it is night: I stay at the Summit Temple. Here I can touch the stars with my hand. I dare not speak aloud in the silence For fear of disturbing the dwellers of Heaven.

I desire only the long ecstasy of wine, And desire not to awaken.

I sing, the wild moon wanders the sky. I dance, my shadow goes tumbling about. While we're awake, let us join in carousal; Only sweet drunkenness shall ever part us. Let us pledge a friendship no mortals know, And often hail each other at evening Far across the vast and vaporous space!

Since the days of old, the wise and the good Have been left alone in their solitude, While merry drinkers have achieved enviable fame.

I will mount a long wind some day and break the heavy waves, And set my cloudy sail straight and bridge the deep, deep sea.

Life is an immense dream. Why toil? All day long I drowse with wine, And lie by the post at the front door. Awakening, I gaze upon the garden trees, And, hark, a bird is singing among the flowers. Pray, what season may this be? Ah, the songster's a mango-bird, Singing to the passing wind of spring. I muse and muse myself to sadness, Once more I pour my wine, and singing aloud, Await the bright moonrise. My song is ended-- What troubled my soul?--I remember not.

Before my bed, the moon is shining bright, I think that it is frost upon the ground. I raise my head and look at the bright moon. I lower my head and think of home.

It's long since I've gone to the East Mountains. How many seasons have the tiny roses bloomed? White clouds - unblown - fall apart. In whose court has the bright moon dropped?