Great Throughts Treasury

"Excessive thinking harms life; we should go where fate leads, and ride on the waves of the Great Flux without joy and without fear. If life must end, then let it end; there is no need to be full of anxieties."

"Unsettled, a bird lost from the flock -- Keeps flying by itself in the dusk. Back and forth, it has no resting place, Night after night, more anguished its cries. Its shrill sound yearns for the pure and distant -- Coming from afar, how anxiously it flutters! It chances to find a pine tree growing all apart; Folding its wings, it has come home at last. In the gusty wind there is no dense growth; This canopy alone does not decay. Having found a perch to roost on, In a thousand years it will not depart."

"By chance I fell into the dust net of this world where in an instant passed some thirty years. "

"Treat him well, for he is also someone’s son."

"Just surrender to the cycle of things, Give yourself to the waves of the Great Change, And when it is time to go, then simply go, Without any unnecessary fuss"

"One glance finds all of heaven and earth. What pleasures can compare with these?"

"Fret not over bygones and the forward journey take. Only a short distance have I gone astray, and I know today I am right, if yesterday was a complete mistake… Ah, homeward bound I go! Let me from now on learn to live alone! The world and I are not made for one another, and why drive round like one looking for what he has not found?"

"No one knows where he came from. His given and literary names are also a mystery. But we know there were five willows growing beside his house, which is why he used the name Master Five-Willows. At peace in idleness, rarely speaking, he had no longing for fame or fortune. He loved to read books, and yet never puzzled over their profound insights. But whenever he came upon some realization, he was so pleased that he forgot to eat. He was a wine-lover by nature, but couldn't afford it very often. Everyone knew this, so when they had wine, they'd call him over. And when he drank, it was always bottoms-up. He'd be drunk in no time; then he'd go back home, alone and with no regrets over where things were going. In the loneliness of his meager wall, there was little shelter from wind and sun. His short coat was patched and sewn. And made from gourd and split bamboo, his cup and bowl were often empty. But he kept writing poems to amuse himself, and they show something of who he was. He went on like this, forgetting all gain and loss, until he came naturally to his end."

"This new year makes it fifty suddenly gone. Thinking of life’s steady return to rest cuts deep, driving me to spend all morning wandering. Skies clear, air’s breath fresh, I sit with friends beside this stream flowing far away. Striped bream weave gentle currents; calling gulls drift above idle valleys. Eyes roaming distant waters, I find ridge above ridge: it’s nothing like majestic nine-fold immortality peaks, but to reverent eyes it’s incomparable. Taking the winejar, I pour a round, and we start offering brimful toasts: who knows where today might lead or if all this will ever come true again. After a few cups, my heart’s far away, and I forget thousand-year sorrows: ranging to the limit of this morning’s joy, it isn’t tomorrow I’m looking for."

"We had warm, wet weather all spring. Now, white autumn is clear and cold. Dew frozen, drifting mists gone, bottomless heavens open over this vast landscape of clarity, and mountains stretch away, their towering peaks an unearthly treasure of distance. These fragrant woodland chrysanthemums ablaze, green pines lining the clifftops: isn’t this the immaculate heart of beauty, this frost-deepened austerity? Sipping wine, I think of recluse masters. A century away, I nurture your secrets. Your true nature eludes me here, but taken by quiet, I can linger this exquisite moon out to the end."

"ust surrender to the wave of the Great Change. Neither happy nor afraid. And when it is time to go, then simply go - without any unnecessary fuss."

"In the month of June the grass grows high And round my cottage thick-leaved branches sway. There is not a bird but delights in the place where it rests: And I too — love my thatched cottage. I have done my ploughing: I have sown my seed. Again I have time to sit and read my books. In the narrow lane there are no deep ruts: Often my friends' carriages turn back. In high spirits I pour out my spring wine And pluck the lettuce growing in my garden. A gentle rain comes stealing up from the east And a sweet wind bears it company. My thoughts float idly over the story of King Chou My eyes wander over the pictures of Hills and Seas. At a single glance I survey the whole Universe. He will never be happy, whom such pleasures fail to please!"

"Poetry is basically stating one’s feelings; There’s no need to shout them out loud! When you realize that the poem should be even and bland, You’ll devote yourself to Yüan-ming morning and evening."

"Endless yearning crushes a man's heart."

"At the foot of the south mountain I sow beans; The weeds tangle them, the bean shoots are weak. I rise early and scratch in the wilderness. Under the moonlight I return with my hoe on my shoulder. The footpath between the furrows so narrow, the grasses so long That my clothes are moistened with dew. Why should I care when my clothes are wet? I only hope to make myself a hermit."

"There was a time when I wanted to live in a south village, But not because I was guided by the auguries. I had heard that many simple men lived here— With them I would be glad to spend my mornings and evenings. For many years this was my desire, And now today I shall accomplish my task: So wretched a cottage need not be spacious, All I want is a bed and a mat. Often the neighbors will come to visit me, We shall argue vociferously about the ancient times, Rare writings we shall enjoy reading together, And we shall clear up all doubtful interpretations."

"In early summer the woods and herbs are thriving, Around my cottage thick sway the branches and shades. The numerous birds delight in their sanctuaries, And I too love my cottage. After I have planted and sown, Then I return to read my books. The narrow lane which has no deep ruts Has often turned back an old friend's coach. Joyfully I pour my spring wine, And pluck the lettuce growing in my garden. A fine rain comes from the east And a sweet wind follows it. Idly I read the legends of King Chou And glance at the map of the strange places. In a moment I am flying through the universe. How could such a man ever be unhappy?"