Eiji Yoshikawa Quotes

It is easy to crush an enemy outside oneself but impossible to defeat an enemy within.

...you're going to find people from all over the country, everyone hungry for money and position. You won't make a name for yourself just doing what the next man does. You'll have to distinguish yourself in some way.

I want to lead an important life. I want to do it because I was born a human being.

Fighting isn't all there is to the Art of War. The men who think that way, and are satisfied to have food to eat and a place to sleep, are mere vagabonds. A serious student is much more concerned with training his mind and disciplining his spirit than with developing martial skills.

Enemies were teachers in disguise.

The world is always full of the sound of waves. The little fishes, abandoning themselves to the waves, dance and sing, and play, but who knows the heart of the sea, a hundred feet down? Who knows its depth?

There's nothing more frightening than a half-baked do-gooder who knows nothing of the world but takes it upon himself to tell the world what's good for it.

Hold on to your life and make it honest and brave.

Her only weapons were her tears.

Think what you like. There are people who die by remaining alive and others who gain life by dying.

There is nothing outside of yourself that can ever enable you to get better, stronger, richer, quicker, or smarter. Everything is within. Everything exists. Seek nothing outside of yourself.

It is easy to surpass a predecessor, but difficult to avoid being surpassed by a successor.

Not only must a warrior be strong with his bow, but he must have a heart full of pity for all living creatures.

bukan sekadar membaca, tetapi mempertemukan antara satu buku dengan yang lain, mempertemukan mereka dengan realitas lalu menemukan sintesis dan membuat tulisan kita sendiri.

Manusia ingin percaya bahwa mereka hidup dan bertindak berdasarkan kemauan mereka sendiri, namun pada kenyataannya mereka hanya dipaksa oleh keadaan.

The greatest happiness of life was to stand at the difficult border between success and failure.

Die? Then so be it.

Keberanian sejati mengenal rasa takut Dia tahu bagaimana takut kepada apa yang harus ditakuti Orang-orang yang tulus menghargai hidup dengan penuh kecintaan Mereka mendekapnya sebagai permata yang berharga Dan mereka memilih waktu serta tempat yang tepat untuk menyerahkannya Mati dengan penuh kemuliaan

The line between life and death is not thicker than an eyelid.

You seem to be under the misconception that if you perform one brave deed, that alone makes you a samurai. Well it doesn't! You let that one act of loyalty convince you of your righteousness. The more convinced you became, the more harm you caused yourself and everyone else.

Don't yield! Keep up your courage! The same sun looks down on all of us!

To him, any place could serve as home—more than that: wherever he happened to be was the universe.

It's no good to want to win still more when you have already won.

He saw the white paper as the great universe of nonexistence. A single stroke would give rise to existence within it. He could evoke rain or wind at will, but whatever he drew, his heart would remain in the painting forever. If his heart was tainted, the picture would be tainted; if his heart was listless, so would the picture be. If he attempted to make a show of his craftsmanship, it could not be concealed. Men’s bodies fade away, but ink lives on. The image of his heart would continue to breathe after he himself was gone.

See, see how the sun has moved onward while we talked. Nothing can stop it in its course. Prayers cannot halt the revolving of nature. It is the same with human life. Victory and defeat are one in the vast stream of life. Victory is the beginning of defeat, and who can rest safely in victory? Impermanence is the nature of all things of this world. Even you will find your ill fortunes too will change. It is easy to understand the impatience of the old, whose days are numbered, but why should you young ones fret when the future is yours?

Call them robbers and cutthroats--were they not amiable enough when they had sufficient to fill their bellies? Something was out of joint in a world that drove these men to steal.

Orang yang benar-benar berani adalah yang mencintai hidup dan mendambakannya sebagai harta kekayaan yang sekali hilang takkan dapat ditemukan kembali.

It's interesting, isn't it? Being in the world.

The truth of the scholar, alone in his study, does not always accord with what the world at large considers to be true.

Still, in a fight like that, you never know. There’s a superhuman element involved. All warriors have to face it; winning or losing is partly a matter of luck.

The summit is believed to be the object of the climb. But its true object—the joy of living—is not in the peak itself, but in the adversities encountered on the way up. There are valleys, cliffs, streams, precipices, and slides, and as he walks these steep paths, the climber may think he cannot go any farther, or even that dying would be better than going on. But then he resumes fighting the difficulties directly in front of him, and when he is finally able to turn and look back at what he has overcome, he finds he has truly experienced the joy of living while on life's very road.

True courage knows fear. It knows how to fear that which should be feared. Honest people value life passionately, they hang on to it like a precious jewel. And they pick the right time and place to surrender it, to die with dignity.

Beyond the shadow of a doubt, food was more important than a woman's suffering.

Is that so? He who lives in the mountains years for the city, and the city-dweller would rather live in the mountains," the Abbot chuckled, "and nothing is ever to one's liking...

I can only bow to the will of the heaven, but not to the will of these men.

If the young cannot harbor great dreams in their souls, who can?

Anywhere there is life, there are eyes. And things, too, speak to those who have ears to hear.

Everything in the world is good. But if you're not careful, even good things can turn against you

If the talents I was born with are the right ones, I may someday achieve my goal. If not, I may go through life being as stupid as I am now.

Should misfortune visit the Court, that can only be the result of its continued abuses. If the palace is attacked, that can only be the result of misgovernment. I can hardly be held responsible for the outcome.

A day in a man’s life is constructed according to whether he accepts or rejects flashes of inspiration.

Whether people were great or not, there was not much variety in their inner life experience. Any difference lay merely in how they dealt with common human weaknesses.

Danger was the grindstone on which the swordsman whetted his spirit. Enemies were teachers in disguise.

Musashi wondered how many people there were who on this night could say: “I was right. I did what I should have done. I have no regrets.” For him, each resounding knell evoked a tremor of remorse. He could conjure up nothing but the things he had done wrong during the last year. Nor was it only the last year—the year before, and the year before that, all the years that had gone by had brought regrets. There had not been a single year devoid of them. Indeed, there had hardly been one day.

It was only leaves and branches.

Those who love seek a philosophy and, because of this, are fond of solitude.

If a man wanted to put the entire universe in his breast, he couldn't do it with his chest stuck out.

A wise man who cultivates wisdom may sometimes drown in it.

I wouldn't call Musashi ordinary. But he is. That's what's extraordinary about him. He's not content with relying on whatever natural gifts he may have. Knowing he's ordinary, he's always trying to improve himself. No one appreciates the agonizing effort he's had to make. Now that his year's of training have yielded such spectacular results, everybody's talking about his 'god-given talent.' That's how men who don't try very hard comfort themselves.

I’m still an amateur. But the world’s full of people who don’t seem to be as good as I am.

Kalau orang muda tidak dapat menggantungkan cita-cita besar dalam jiwanya, siapa lagi yang dapat?

Is there anything that will not decay?

Love was like a toothache.

People were born with two hands; why not use both of them? As it was, swordsmen fought with only one sword, and often one hand. This made sense, so long as everybody followed the same practice. But if one combatant were to employ two swords at once, what chance would an opponent using only one have of winning?

A wanderer with no ideal, no sense of gratitude for his independence, is no more than a beggar! The difference between a beggar and the great wandering priest Saigyō lies inside the heart!

Take a good look at the times. It is inevitable that greedy men, who close their eyes and obstruct the tide of the times with their selfishness, will be burned up together with the fallen leaves.

Instead of wanting to be like this or that, make yourself into a silent, immovable giant. That’s what the mountain is. Don’t waste your time trying to impress people. If you become the sort of man people can respect, they’ll respect you, without your doing anything.

The world is always full of the sound of waves. The little fishes, abandoning themselves to the waves, dance and sing and play, but who knows the heart of the sea, a hundred feet down? Who knows its depth?

If you become self-conscious about the proper way to drink, you won’t enjoy the tea. When you use a sword, you can’t let your body become too tense. That would break the harmony between the sword and your spirit. Isn’t that right?

A fief, the elder Hosokawa had advised, was like a castle wall built of many rocks. A rock that could not be cut to fit in comfortably with the others would weaken the whole structure, even though the rock itself might be of admirable size and quality.

Here--you warriors--why this moaning and complaining? Have you no more sense than toads and vipers? Our time hasn't come. Have you no patience? Are we not the 'trodden weed' still? The time is not yet here for us to raise our heads. Must you still complain?

El mundo es un muro de piedra -pensaba-, y han puesto las piedras tan juntas que no hay ni una sola rendija por la que uno pueda entrar.

kalau agama itu ajaran sehat, kita tak akan membutuhkan nabi-nabi untuk menyampaikannya kepada kita. -Takuan

In an age hungry for young men of talent, this was no time to be distracted by a flower along the wayside.

Люди придумали хорошие манеры и этикет, которые не допускают проявления плохих сторон. Этикет укрепляет порядок в обществе, который является высшей заботой правителей страны. 

Diri seseorang itu adalah dasar segalanya. Setiap tindakan adalah ungkapan diri seseorang. Orang yang tidak kenal dirinya tak dapat melakukan apa pun buat orang lain.

Everything in the world is good. But if you're not careful, even good things can turn against you.

She needed intimacy and a sense of partaking in, not just observing, real life.

If you trust me enough to tell me a secret, I certainly promise to keep it. Please speak freely, on any subject.

The young man rushed toward them. “Stand and fight!” he was shouting. “Is running away the Yoshioka version of the Art of War? I personally don’t want to kill you, but my Drying Pole’s still thirsty. The least you can do, cowards that you are, is leave your heads behind.

Kita manusia ini semua melihat satu bulan saja, tetapi banyak jalan yang dapat kita tempuh untuk sampai ke puncak yang terdekat dengannya. Kadang-kadang kalau kita tersesat, kita memutuskan untuk mencoba jalan orang lain, tapi tujuan akhirnya menemukan penyempurnaan hidup.

He used to say that a true rōnin did not seek fame or profit, did not curry favor with the powerful, did not attempt to use political power for his own ends, did not exempt himself from moral judgments. Rather he was as broad-minded as floating clouds, as quick to act as the rain and quite content in the midst of poverty. He never set himself any targets and never harbored any grudges.

Fighting isn’t all there is to the Art of War. The men who think that way, and are satisfied to have food to eat and a place to sleep, are mere vagabonds. A serious student is much more concerned with training his mind and disciplining his spirit than with developing martial skills. He has to learn about all sorts of things—geography, irrigation, the people’s feelings, their manners and customs, their relationship with the lord of their territory. He wants to know what goes on inside the castle, not just what goes on outside it. He wants, essentially, to go everywhere he can and learn everything he can.

We human beings all look up at the same moon, but there are many roads we may travel to reach the top of the peak nearest it. Sometimes, when we lose our way, we decide to try someone else's, but the ultimate aim is to find fulfillment in life.

Through his mad fancying he remembered Mokunosuke's words: "Whoever you are, you are a man after all. You are no cripple with those fine limbs." Whether he was the son of an emperor or the child of an intrigue, was he not a child of the heavens and the earth?

When Takuan had sentenced him to confinement, he had said, “You may read as much as you want. A famous priest of ancient times once said, ‘I become immersed in the sacred scriptures and read thousands of volumes. When I come away, I find that my heart sees more than before.

I seem to hear thousands of voices--the voices of the common folk in the marketplace--urging me to go forward and do what must be done. More is at stake now than my life. On me turns the future of the warriors. Let's not quibble longer, lest this rare opportunity slip through my fingers.

It wasn't that he had forgotten the lesson Takuan had taught him: the truly brave man is one who loves life, cherishing it as a treasure that once forfeited can never be recovered. He well knew that to live was more than merely to survive. The problem was how to imbue his life with meaning, how to ensure that his life would cast a bright ray of light into the future, even if it became necessary to give up that life for a cause. If he succeeded in doing this, the length of his life--twenty years or seventy--made little difference. A lifetime was only an insignificant interval in the endless flow of time.

Ah, you pitiful, pitiful creatures! Beautiful family! Nobler far than stupid men..." he cried softly to himself. What was he doing here with his arrow? Cornering these creatures? Armor--an armor to brag about! Save his dignity before that armor-maker because of a promise? Foolish...foolish! If the old man jeered at him, why should it matter anymore; a common suit of armor would do as well! Armor did not make a man, nor did it signify valor. "Dumb creatures that you are, how magnificent! Sorrow, love--parental love incarnate! Were I that fox--what if Tokiko and Shigemori were trapped like this? Even the beast can rise above itself--could I as much?

My dear friend and colleague Chris gave me the novel Musashi by Eiji Yoshikawa, translated by Charles S. Terry. It’s about real life seventeenth-century samurai Miyamoto Musashi, who wrote The Book of Five Rings (which my father had in his library), and I came across a passage in the novel that I think captures the living void beautifully:

...the human mouth is the gateway to catastrophe.

Tidak pantas bagi seorang samurai untuk memetik bunga di pinggir jalan ketika sedang berangkat ke medan perang (Read: Sekolah yang benar dulu lah, gak usah pacaran segala).

Обычай превращал нелепость в закон?

Если заниматься одним чтением, теряешь ощущение действительности.

Высшая цель Пути Меча состоит в том, чтобы обеспечить мир в стране.

It’s not just my body. I’m cold inside. Not disciplined properly. That’s what it is. I still long to cling to warm flesh, like a baby, and I give in too quickly to sentimentality. Because I’m alone, I feel sorry for myself and envy people who have nice warm houses. At heart, I’m base and mean! Why can’t I be thankful for independence and freedom to go where I choose? Why can’t I hold on to my ideals and my pride?

Yes, you crows, Once in a while There’s a need for housecleaning, But not only in Nara. It’s nature’s way To make everything new again. So spring can rise from the ground, We burn leaves, We burn fields. Sometimes we want snow to fall, Sometimes we want a housecleaning. Oh, you crows! Feast away! What a spread! Soup straight from the eye sockets, And thick red sake. But don’t have too much Or you’ll surely get drunk.

Lord Karasumaru considered it a grave mistake on the part of the gods to have made a man like himself a nobleman. And, though a servant of the Emperor, he saw only two paths open to him: to live in constant misery or to spend his time carousing. The sensible choice was to rest his head on the knees of a beautiful woman, admire the pale light of the moon, view the cherry blossoms in season and die with a cup of sake in his hand.

I use the same method with flowers that I use with the sword.” Otsū looked surprised. “Can you really arrange flowers the way you use the sword?” “Yes. You see, it’s all a matter of spirit. I have no use for rules—twisting the flowers with your fingertips or choking them at the neck. The point is to have the proper spirit—to be able to make them seem alive, just as they were when they were picked. Look at that! My flower isn’t dead.” Otsū

— Мы не думаем о себе, стараясь для людей. — Глупец! — Такуан влепил пощечину Дзётаро. — Человек — суть всего на земле. Каждое действие есть проявление личности. Человек, не познавший себя, не способен на что-либо для других.

Oh, but you’re wrong! It’s my duty as a priest to pry into people’s lives. I agree it’s a meddlesome trade, but it’s no more useless than the business of a merchant, clothier, carpenter or samurai. It exists because it is needed.

In the ashes on the hearth Saigyo traced and retraced the word, "pity." He had yet to learn to accept life with all its good and evils, to love life in all its manifestations by becoming one with nature. And for this he had abandoned home, wife, and child in that city of conflict. He had fled to save his own life, not for any grandiose dream of redeeming mankind; neither had he taken vows with the thoughts of chanting sutras to Buddha; nor did he aspire to brocaded ranks of the high prelates. Only by surrendering to nature could he best cherish his own life, learn how man should live, and therein find peace. And if any priest accused him of taking the vows out of self-love, not to purify the world and bring salvation to men, Saigyo was ready to admit that these charges were true and that he deserved to be reviled and spat upon as a false priest. Yet, if driven to answer for himself, he was prepared to declare that he who had not learned to love his own life could not love mankind, and that what he sought now was to love that life which was his. Gifts he had none to preach salvation or the precepts of Buddha; all that he asked was to be left to exist as humbly as the butterflies and the birds.

The large strings hummed like rain, The small strings whispered like a secret, Hummed, whispered—and then were intermingled Like a pouring of large and small pearls into a plate of jade. We heard an oriole, liquid, hidden among flowers. We heard a brook bitterly sob along a bank of sand. . . . By the checking of its cold touch, the very string seemed broken As though it could not pass; and the notes, dying away Into a depth of sorrow and concealment of lament, Told even more in silence than they had told in sound. . . . A silver vase abruptly broke with a gush of water, And out leapt armored horses and weapons that clashed and smote— And before she laid her pick down, she ended with one stroke, And all four strings made one sound, as of rending silk.

On the eleventh day, it finally stopped raining. Musashi chafed to be out in the open, but it was another week before they were able to return to work under a bright sun. The field they had so arduously carved out of the wilderness had disappeared without a trace; in its place were rocks, and a river where none had been before. The water seemed to mock them just as the villagers had. Iori, seeing no way to reclaim their loss, looked up and said, “This place is beyond hope. Let’s look for better land somewhere else.” “No,” Musashi said firmly. “With the water drained off, this would make excellent farmland. I examined the location from every angle before I chose it.” “What if we have another heavy rain?” “We’ll fix it so the water doesn’t come this way. We’ll lay a dam from here all the way to that hill over there.” ‘That’s an awful lot of work.” “You seem to forget that this is our dōjō. I’m not giving up a foot of this land until I see barley growing on it.” Musashi carried on his stubborn struggle throughout the winter, into the second month of the new year. It took several weeks of strenuous labor to dig ditches, drain the water off, pile dirt for a dike and then cover it with heavy rocks. Three weeks later everything was again washed away. “Look,” Iori said, “we’re wasting our energy on something impossible. Is that the Way of the Sword?” The question struck close to the bone, but Musashi would not give in. Only a month passed before the next disaster, a heavy snowfall followed by a quick thaw. Iori, on his return from trips to the temple for food, inevitably wore a long face, for the people there rode him mercilessly about Musashi’s failure. And finally Musashi himself began to lose heart. For two full days and on into a third, he sat silently brooding and staring at his field. Then it dawned on him suddenly. Unconsciously, he had been trying to create a neat, square field like those common in other parts of the Kanto Plain, but this was not what the terrain called for. Here, despite the general flatness, there were slight variations in the lay of the land and the quality of the soil that argued for an irregular shape. “What a fool I’ve been,” he exclaimed aloud. “I tried to make the water flow where I thought it should and force the dirt to stay where I thought it ought to be. But it didn’t work. How could it? Water’s water, dirt’s dirt. I can’t change their nature. What I’ve got to do is learn to be a servant to the water and a protector of the land.” In his own way, he had submitted to the attitude of the peasants. On that day he became nature’s manservant. He ceased trying to impose his will on nature and let nature lead the way, while at the same time seeking out possibilities beyond the grasp of other inhabitants of the plain. The snow came again, and another thaw; the muddy water oozed slowly over the plain. But Musashi had had time to work out his new approach, and his field remained intact. “The same rules must apply to governing people,” he said to himself. In his notebook, he wrote: “Do not attempt to oppose the way of the universe. But first make sure you know the way of the universe.

Takuan had taught him: the truly brave man is one who loves life, cherishing it as a treasure that once forfeited can never be recovered. He well knew that to live was more than merely to survive. The problem was how to imbue his life with meaning, how to ensure that his life would cast a bright ray of light into the future, even if it became necessary to give up that life for a cause. If he succeeded in doing this, the length of his life—twenty years or seventy—made little difference. A lifetime was only an insignificant interval in the endless flow of time.

His own life on earth was short, limited; the beauty and splendor of Mount Fuji eternal. Annoyed and a little depressed, he asked himself how he could possibly attach any importance to his accomplishments with the sword. There was an inevitability in the way nature rose majestically and sternly above him; it was in the order of things that he was doomed to remain beneath it. He fell on his knees before the mountain, hoping his presumptuousness would be forgiven, and clasped his hands in prayer—for his mother’s eternal rest and for the safety of Otsū and Jōtarō. He expressed his thanks to his country and begged to be allowed to become great, even if he could not share nature’s greatness. But even as he knelt, different thoughts came rushing into his mind. What had made him think man was small? Wasn’t nature itself big only when it was reflected in human eyes? Didn’t the gods themselves come into existence only when they communicated with the hearts of mortals? Men—living spirits, not dead rock—performed the greatest actions of all. “As a man,” he told himself, “I am not so distant from the gods and the universe. I can touch them with the three-foot sword I carry. But not so long as I feel there is a distinction between nature and humankind. Not so long as I remain distant from the realm of the true expert, the fully developed man.

One’s self is the basis of everything. Every action is a manifestation of the self. A person who doesn’t know himself can do nothing for others.” “What I meant—I wasn’t acting to satisfy my own desires.” “Shut up! Don’t you see you’re barely grown? There’s nothing more frightening than a half-baked do-gooder who knows nothing of the world but takes it upon himself to tell the world what’s good for it.

A fief, the elder Hosokawa had advised, was like a castle wall built of many rocks. A rock that could not be cut to fit in comfortably with the others would weaken the whole structure, even though the rock itself might be of admirable size and quality. The daimyō of the new age left the unsuitable rocks in the mountains and fields, for there was an abundance of them. The great challenge was to find one great rock that would make an outstanding contribution to one's own wall.

How was Gengo to know, Saigyo reflected, that this unheroic existence imposed even greater torment than the icy lashings of the Nachi Falls in its thousand-foot leap? How was Gengo to realize that Saigyo had not slept a single night undisturbed since he had fled his home for the Eastern Hills, that his sleep was haunted by the cries of his beloved daughter from whom he had torn himself. Who knew that during the day, when he went about his tasks of drawing water and chopping wood as he composed verses, the sighting of the wind in the treetops of the valleys below and the pines surrounding the temple sounded to him like the mourning of his young wife, and so troubled his nights that sleep no longer visited him? Never again would Saigyo find peace. He had wrenched asunder the living boughs of the tree that was his life. Remorse and compassion for his loved ones would dog him to the end of his days.

For most of the time, Musashi wasn’t really conscious of what he was doing. He was in a sort of trance, a murderous dream in which body and soul were concentrated in his three-foot sword. Unconsciously, his whole life experience—the knowledge his father had beaten into him, what he had learned at Sekigahara, the theories he had heard at the various schools of swordsmanship, the lessons taught him by the mountains and the trees—everything came into play in the rapid movements of his body. He became a disembodied whirlwind mowing down the herd of rōnin, who by their stunned bewilderment left themselves wide open to his sword. For the short duration of the battle, one of the priests counted the number of times he inhaled and exhaled. It was all over before he had taken his twentieth breath. Musashi was drenched with the blood of his victims. The few remaining rōnin were also covered with gore. The earth, the grass, even the air was bloody. One of their number let out a scream, and the surviving rōnin scattered in all directions.