远远去了的夏之音乐，翱翔于秋间，寻求它的旧垒。
当太阳横过西方的海面时，对着东方留下他的最后的敬礼。
枯竭的河床，并不感谢它的过去。
夏天的飞鸟，飞到我的窗前唱歌，又飞去了。秋天的黄叶，它们没有什么可唱，只叹息一声，飞落在那里。
Though you have eyes, you still can see the beauty of the world.
The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies.
The world rushes on over the strings of the lingering heart making the music of sadness.
I cannot tell why this heart languishes in silence. It is for small needs it never asks, or knows, or remembers.
I sit at my window this morning where the world like a passer - by stops for a moment, nods to me and goes.
My wishes are fools, they shout across thy song, my Master. Let me but listen.
The mystery of creation is like the darkness of night—it is great. Delusions of knowledge are like the fog of the morning.
Set the bird's wings with gold and it will never again soar in the sky.
He has made his weapons his gods. When his weapons win he is defeated himself.
The waterfall sings, “I find my song when I find my freedom.”
The sands in your way beg for your song and your movement, dancing water. Will you carry the burden of their lameness?
Make me thy cup, that I may hold thy wine to the brim for thee and for thine.
Listen, my heart, to the whispers of the world with which it makes love to you.
The mighty desert is burning for the love of a blade of grass who shakes her head and laughs and flies away.
The world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover. It becomes small as one song, as one kiss of the eternal.