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Quotes About Meditation

Your mind is like this water my friend, when it is agitated it becomes difficult to see, but if you allow it to settle, the answer becomes clear.
~ Unknown
No company like good books, especially the book of God.
~ Unknown
A loud mind is greater than a loud mouth.
~ Matshona Dhliwayo
How still it is! Stinging into the stones, The locusts' trill.
~ Unknown
The months and days are the travelers of eternity. The years that come and go are also voyagers…. I too for years past have been stirred by the sight of a solitary cloud drifting with the wind to ceaseless thoughts of roaming.
~ Matsuo Bash?
Along this road goes no one, this autumn eve.
~ Matsuo Bash?
On this road where nobody else travels autumn nightfall.
~ Matsuo Bash?
Old pond — frogs jumped in — sound of water
~ Matsuo Bash?
???? ?????? ??? The deep Stillness Seeping into the rocks The voice of the Cicadas
~ Matsuo Bash?
Chrysanthemum Silence - monk Sips his morning tea.
~ Matsuo Bash?
An old silent pond... A frog jumps into the pond, splash! Silence again.
~ Matsuo Bash?
Lonely stillness— a single cicada's cry sinking into stone
~ Matsuo Bash?
Many things of the past Are brought to my mind, As I stand in the garden Staring at a cherry tree.
~ Matsuo Bash?
There are also times when we feel like taking to the road ourselves, seizing the raincoat lying nearby, or times when we feel like sitting down till our legs take root, enjoying the scene we picture before our eyes. (Written by Soryu as a postscript)
~ Matsuo Bash?
Come, let's go Snow-viewing Till we're buried.
~ Matsuo Bash?
El viejo estanque una rana se sumerge ruido de agua
~ Matsuo Bash?
Year's end, all corners of this floating world, swept.
~ Matsuo Bash?
Sick on a journey - over parched fields dreams wander on.
~ Matsuo Bash?
Still alive I am At the end of a long dream On my journey, Fall of an autumn day.
~ Matsuo Bash?
The master said, 'Learn about a pine tree from a pine tree, and about a bamboo stalk from a bamboo stalk.' What he meant was that the poet should detach his mind from self… and enter into the object, sharing its delicate life and its feelings. Whereupon a poem forms itself. Description of the object is not enough: unless a poem contains feelings which have come from the object, the object and the poet's self will be separate things.
~ Matsuo Bash?
Darkening waves – cry of wild ducks, faintly white.
~ Matsuo Bash?
Silencio la voz de la cigarra parte las rocas
~ Matsuo Bash?
Black forest nothing you say matters it snows all morning
~ Matsuo Bash?
Under the cherry/blossom soup/blossom salad.
~ Matsuo Bash?