Japan Cherry Blossom Quotes

What a strange thing! to be alive beneath cherry blossoms.

However wildly this year's cherry blossoms bloom, I'll see them with the plum's scent filling my heart.

The pale whiteness of her upturned face as she choked on the smoke; the tangled length of her hair as she tried to shake the flames from it; the beauty of her cherry-blossom robe as it burst into flame: it was all so cruel, so terrible!

I wish I could see a cherry blossom or a lotus flower. Where could they be?

Like any great and good country, Japan has a culture of gathering- weddings, holidays, seasonal celebrations- with food at the core. In the fall, harvest celebrations mark the changing of the guard with roasted chestnuts, sweet potatoes, and skewers of grilled gingko nuts. As the cherry blossoms bloom, festive picnics called hanami usher in the spring with elaborate spreads of miso salmon, mountain vegetables, colorful bento, and fresh mochi turned pink with sakura petals.

There's a saying in Japan, and it has to do with cherry-blossom viewing: hana yori dango (Dumplings over flowers). It basically means that someone should value needs over wants, substance over appearance. As in, make sure you have food and shelter before you burn money on something extravagant. And, you know, choose genuine friends who will be there for you over pretty, shallow ones. Don't get carried away by beauty if it leaves you empty.

Okay. You go first. Do you really think I look like a camel?’ “No. I think you look like Rockefeller Center at Christmas, Japan in cherry blossom season, and the thousand vivid shades of green in the wild moors of Northern Ireland, all rolled into one.

A moon of unsurpassable brilliance flooded the silent landscape with a cruel glare of greenish light, which traced sharp inky shadows of the trees on the rounded white folds. The snow crystals caught and reflected the moonlight upon a myriad facets until I appeared to be walking in a world of sparkling diamonds. The frightful stillness of the woodland at midnight was almost startling – everything seemed to be frost-bound and nerveless. Even the icy air seemed frozen into immobility. The crisp crunch of my footfall appeared to be an unpardonable intrusion, while the scars they made upon the smooth field of scintillating white seemed a positive sacrilege.

Do you know what I wish?” Skylar held Xander’s hand tight as he looked up at the falling leaves. “I wish we could stand like this in Japan, under real cherry trees. Ones in bloom.” “We have real cherry trees in the United States, you know.” “The ones in Japan feel more real, somehow.” Xander smiled. “Then let’s make it a vow. Someday we’ll stand under cherry blossoms in Japan.” Skylar smiled back, and there was only weariness, no more shadows in his face now. “It’s a promise.

If you blink, you might miss it. You might miss the wet floor at the threshold, symbolically cleansing you before the meal begins. You might overlook the flower arrangement in the corner, a spare expression of the passing season. You might miss the scroll on the wall drawn with a single unbroken line, signaling the infinite continuity of nature. You might not detect the gentle current of young ginger rippling through the dashi, the extra sheet of Hokkaido kelp in the soup, the mochi that is made to look like a cherry blossom at midnight. You might miss the water.

The first-known cultivated cherry in Japan was a weeping cherry, a form of Edo-higan. Aristocrats were enchanted by the way in which the thin, supple branches bent over towards the ground, giving the illusion of tears when the tree blossomed, and so they propagated this mutation by collecting seeds and planting them in their gardens.

Collingwood Ingram was a cherry-tree colossus. A passionate advocate for the blossoms and a leading authority on them, he saved some varieties from extinction. He built the world’s biggest collection of cherry-tree varieties outside Japan in his Kent garden. His broader legacy was to spread a diverse cherry-tree culture almost single-handedly across the British Isles and the world at large.

In AD 812 the imperial family hosted a cherry-blossom viewing party for the first time, establishing a link with the cherry culture that continues to this day. The Japanese aristocracy, which sought to forge a national identity away from Chinese influence, celebrated cherries as their own special flower. At their annual hanami gatherings they wrote poems about the flower and about life, and then read them aloud.

Something about Tokyo's exuberant modernism made Iris and me feel like the city existed just to make us happy: Cheer up! the waving maneki-neko cats seemed to whisper. You're in Tokyo! Iris and I came back with a list of Tokyo attractions we never made it to on our first trip, a list about a month long. And we started to drive Laurie insane by breaking into misty-eyed reminiscences about our cherry blossom days in Japan.

To Ingram, the way that Japan had lurched into a culture of extreme uniformity was alien, restrictive and potentially dangerous. The disappearance of diversity, highlighted by the extinction of the Taihaku cherry, was indicative of Japan’s militaristic mood in the 1920s and 1930s. The ubiquity of the lookalike Somei-yoshino cherry spoke volumes about the dark path of conformity which the Japanese followed, until their 1945 defeat.

the Meiji leaders faced a dilemma. How could they unite, emotionally and spiritually, thirty-four million people who had no sense of belonging to a ‘nation’? During the Edo period, from 1603 to 1868, everyone belonged to his own domain and was beholden to one of the 270 or so daimyō. No one called himself or herself ‘Japanese’. But now, in case of an emergency, the government would need to convince millions of ordinary people to take up arms.

Watanabe-san and Sadie exchanged gifts. She brought him a pair of carved wooden Ichigo chopsticks that their Japanese distributor had had made to celebrate the release of the second Ichigo in Japan. In return, he gave her a silk scarf with a reproduction of Cherry Blossoms at Night, by Katsushika Ōi, on it. The painting depicts a woman composing a poem on a slate in the foreground. The titular cherry blossoms are in the background, all but a few of them in deep shadow. Despite the title, the cherry blossoms are not the subject; it is a painting about the creative process---its solitude and the ways in which an artist, particularly a female one, is expected to disappear. The woman's slate appears to be blank. "I know Hokusai is an inspiration for you," Watanabe-san said. "This is by Hokusai's daughter. Only a handful of her paintings survived, but I think she is even better than the father.

Chivalry is a flower no less indigenous to the soil of Japan than its emblem, the cherry blossom; nor is it a dried-up specimen of an antique virtue preserved in the herbarium of our history. It is still a living object of power and beauty among us; and if it assumes no tangible shape or form, it not the less scents the moral atmosphere, and makes us aware that we are still under its potent spell. The conditions of society which brought it forth and nourished it have long disappeared; but as those far-off stars which once were and are not, still continue to shed their rays upon us, so the light of chivalry, which was a child of feudalism, still illuminates our moral path, surviving its mother institution.

It was on the morning of the first day at my school after the long summer break this year that I noticed something stunning as I was about to enter my school through the rock garden gate. As usual, I was so much eager to have a first glimpse of my favourite red brick house from a distance, but instead something even redder captured my eyes. It was an elegant tree full bloomed with red coloured flowers in the morning sun waiting to welcome me back to school after the break, which immediately lifted little remaining home sickness. The guard uncle told that the majestic tree is called Krishnachura. Again I was awed by the beauty of the name. I have seen this tree a plenty in my locality at Salt Lake, but they never ever drew my attention the way this tree did at the school gate at the backdrop of the red building that summer morning. After returning home, I immediately searched for more details of the Krishnachura and found that the tree originally belongs to the islands of the Madagascar. In other parts of India, this tree is known as the Gulmohar. They are also fondly called “Flames of forest”, which somebody rightly resembled them to the flames of the bushfires in hot dry summer. I also found that in many countries, e.g. in Japan, every school must plant at least few flowering cherry trees in their premises. These cherry blossoms have influenced the Japanese society and its art and culture tremendously. Similarly, the Krishnachura has also influenced many poets and appears in the Indian literature and music. However, in our country, they are not mandatorily planted in our school. I am so fortunate to have these trees in my school. I again realized the visions of the founders and subsequent nurturers of my school. I have been seeing this tree since my nursery days, but probably, I was too little to be conscious about its beauty. I told about this to my father, but he further astonished me when he told me that even he looks forward every year for the blossom. Probably, me too will be waiting every year henceforth for the Krishnachura to bloom, but the trail of the sight of the tree of my school that very morning of June with remain with me forever.

the flowers of the morning glory. They bloom and smile every morning, fade and die in a few hours. How fleeting and ephemeral their lives are! But it is that short life itself that makes them frail, delicate, and lovely. They come forth all at once as bright and beautiful as a rainbow or as the Northern light, and disappear like dreams. This is the best condition for them, because, if they last for days together, the morning glory shall no longer be the morning glory. It is so with the cherry-tree that puts forth the loveliest flowers and bears bitter fruits. It is so with the apple-tree, which bears the sweetest of fruits and has ugly blossoms. It is so with animals and men. Each of them is placed in the condition best for his appointed mission. The

Four years to the day after Fairchild's 1908 gift of the trees to Washington's schools, on March 27, 1912, Mrs. Taft broke dirt during the private ceremony in West Potomac Park near the banks of the Potomac River. The wife of the Japanese ambassador was invited to plant the second tree. Eliza Scidmore and David Fairchild took shovels not long after. The 3,020 trees were more than could fit around the tidal basin. Gardeners planted extras on the White House grounds, in Rock Creek Park, and near the corner of Seventeenth and B streets close to the new headquarters of the American Red Cross. It took only two springs for the trees to become universally adored, at least enough for the American government to feel the itch to reciprocate. No American tree could rival the delicate glamour of the sakura, but officials decided to offer Japan the next best thing, a shipment of flowering dogwoods, native to the United States, with bright white blooms. Meanwhile, the cherry blossoms in Washington would endure over one hundred years, each tree replaced by clones and cuttings every quarter century to keep them spry. As the trees grew, so did a cottage industry around them: an elite group of gardeners, a team to manage their public relations, and weather-monitoring officials to forecast "peak bloom"---an occasion around which tourists would be encouraged to plan their visits. Eventually, cuttings from the original Washington, D.C, trees would also make their way to other American cities with hospitable climates. Denver, Colorado; Birmingham, Alabama; Saint Paul, Minnesota.

I put my phone away and stare out the window at Japan's countryside, watching the scenery zip by at 320 kilometers per hour. Mount Fuji has come and gone, as have laundry on metal merry-go-racks, houses plastered with party signs, weathered baseball diamonds, an ostrich farm, and now, miles of rice paddy fields tended by people wearing conical hats and straw coats. Japan is dressed in her best this morning, sunny and breezy, with few clouds in the sky as accessories. It's the first official day of spring. Cherry blossoms have disappeared in twists of wind or trampled into the ground. Takenoko, bamboo season, will begin soon.

Kobayashi Issa’s poem had come to life: Under the cherry-blossoms there’s no such thing as a stranger.

That toilets in Japan were objets d’art has already been established. But their true awesomeness lay not in their gadgetry so much as in their cleanliness and easy availability. As a woman on the move, a decent toilet was manna. We had smaller bladders than men, we had monthly periods, and those of us who had given birth had urinary tracts that were as capricious in the timing of their needs as the annual blooming of the cherry blossoms. The simple fact of being able to use a toilet with confidence in public spaces – parks, metro stations, highway pit stops – enhanced the quality of life enough to make toilets my number one favourite thing about Japan.

cherries were portrayed as symbols of youth, love, romance and contentment,

Japanese sakuramori, or cherry guardian,

Japan’s attachment to cherry blossoms represents a unique and singular obsession.

Other nations have special flowers, of course. But who could imagine virtually the entire population of Britain or Germany or America visiting parks on one particular weekend to view a flower, no matter how lovely?

hanami, or cherry-viewing, party (in Japanese, hana means flower and mi means seeing).

In Japan, the season is much more defined. The flowers of each Somei-yoshino tree survive for about eight days, no more, and the reason they all blossom together and then lose those blossoms together is that they are clones.

Ingram introduced about fifty different kinds of Japanese cherries to Britain. He was the first person in the world to hybridise cherries artificially. He created his own new varieties.

ancient Japan, cherry blossoms had been emblematic of new life and new beginnings.

in the 1930s, as successive governments used the popularity of sakura, and its imperial links, as propaganda tools among an unquestioning people. Rather than focusing on cherry blossom as a symbol of life, the songs, plays and school textbooks now focused more on death. Classic poems were deliberately misinterpreted, and it became the norm to believe that the Yamato damashii, or ‘true Japanese spirit’, involved a willingness to die for the emperor–Japan’s living god–much as the cherry petals died after a short but glorious life.

from the late nineteenth century onwards, the newly cultivated Somei-yoshino cherries were a convenience.

By the late 1880s more than 30 per cent of all cherry trees in Tokyo were Somei-yoshino.

Millions more were planted nationwide after Japan’s military victory against Russia in 1905, and to celebrate Emperor Taishō’s accession to the throne in 1912 and Emperor Shōwa’s (Hirohito) in 1926. Other cherries were neglected or simply disappeared. Few people cared, and fewer still did anything about it.

I had seen a thousand ‘Visit Japan’ advertisements, often highlighting the same two icons: a snow-capped Mount Fuji and the cherry blossom.

several Japanese cherry specialists who risked their lives during the Pacific War (as the Second World War is known) to preserve rare varieties.

After all, Japanese people are familiar with concepts such as hanami or cherry-blossom viewing, but such Japan-specific experiences needed explaining to Nippon neophytes.

the four centuries before 1853, when Japan had a transformative encounter with the West, its history divided in two. The first period, ranging from 1467 to 1600, was the so-called Age of Civil Wars, also known as the Sengoku era. The second period, until 1853, was a peaceful time of seclusion called Sakoku, which means ‘country in chains’, when Japan had little contact with the rest of the world. This was the golden age of cherry blossoms.

News of Japan’s existence had spread. Marco Polo, writing in the thirteenth century after visiting China, had called Japan ‘Cipangu, the land of gold’. Although Polo never himself set foot in Japan, his vivid descriptions of its monumental wealth stirred many an adventurer, including Columbus.

Catching up with the West became a national obsession and a new era of rapid economic, social and political development took hold.

Catching up with the West became a national obsession and a new era of rapid economic, social and political development took hold. After centuries of discouraging contact with most foreigners, Japan welcomed thousands of Western educators, entrepreneurs, government officials, naturalists and adventurers.

during this peaceful Sakoku period that unique arts and culture evolved, mostly in Edo and other large cities. These included ukiyo-e woodblock prints, pottery, haiku poetry, kabuki plays and the creation of about 250 varieties of cherry blossom in the Edo gardens of the daimyō lords.

Japanese arts, crafts and culture became a craze after the 1860s. In particular woodblock prints and paintings featuring cherry blossoms, by artists such as Katsushika Hokusai and Utagawa Hiroshige,

Most urban cherries had been wiped out in Japan during the war, leaving the cities bereft of colour and character. The revival began on a small scale as early as 1948, just three years after Japan’s surrender, when 1,250 trees were planted in the war-burnt fields of Tokyo’s spacious Ueno Park, one of the capital’s first public parks. This had been a popular cherry-viewing, or hanami, site since the early seventeenth century, so it was natural that the government wanted to re-establish this tradition.

in the 1960s, the conservative Liberal Democratic Party that has ruled Japan almost continuously since 1955 sought to make the cherry tree a recognisable global icon of the nation’s rebirth,

By 1964, when Tokyo hosted the Olympic Games, Somei-yoshino was again Japan’s quintessential cherry.

the decade between 1955 and 1965 a ‘Somei-yoshino bubble’ because so many trees were planted by local governments, both to beautify land that had been bombed by the Americans

The Somei-yoshino variety has only existed for 150 years at most, Sano stressed to me. Given the 2,000-year-plus history of Japan’s cherry trees, the monotone scenery of the twenty-first century is an historical exception rather than the norm.

Britain racked by post-war austerity, the sight of cherry blossoms in full bloom was an uplifting experience. Few people associated these Japanese flowering cherries with Japan’s conduct during the war,

in Britain, tens of thousands of cherries were planted between the 1950s and the mid-1970s, bringing colour, variety and a touch of Asian exoticism to the urban environment. The trees’ popularity became evident in the names of streets, parks, pubs and restaurants.

Check the map of any British town or village and there’s almost always a ‘Cherry’ or ‘Cherry Tree’ avenue, close, park, road, street or way, mostly named during or after the 1950s, each containing a few hastily planted trees to justify its name.

Since 2011 cherry trees, a symbol of life and rebirth, have been planted in great numbers near Fukushima, in memory of those who died and to help resurrect neighbourhoods washed away during the tsunami.

Japan’s abundance of cultivated, or man-made, cherries was unique. No other peoples in the world cultivated cherries to such an extent. All of these man-made varieties were derived from only ten known species of natural wild cherry that grew in Japan.

The Tale of Genji, a literary masterpiece written by Murasaki Shikibu in the early eleventh century, cherries were portrayed as symbols of youth, love, romance and contentment,

Toyotomi’s extravagant parade and party are re-created at the temple every April in the temple gardens, where more than 1,000 cherry trees now bloom.

From a virtual standing start in the 1920s, Japanese flowering cherry trees became a part of British people’s daily lives within half a century.

the feudal domains were re-designated as prefectures, which were similar to English counties and US states, and the daimyō lords who ruled these fiefdoms were replaced by governors sent from Tokyo.

By shutting itself off from most of the world and banning Catholicism, Japan avoided being colonised and enjoyed peace for more than 200 years.

The Tokugawa shogunate established a nationwide system consisting of about 270 domains, each ruled by a daimyō. Although the shōgun led the country, each domain in this feudal system had its own political, economic and social structure. In effect, each functioned as a small country or principality that paid homage to the shogunate. Each domain also maintained a rigid class system. At the top, of course, were the daimyō, served by their samurai warriors, who were the only Japanese allowed to carry swords. Beneath them came the farmers and peasants who produced food, followed by artisans who made clothes, swords and other goods. Almost at the bottom were the merchants, segregated and ostracised because they made money from others’ labour. Underneath everyone else were the Eta: leather-tanners, undertakers and executioners, who dealt with animal slaughter and death.

At least three of the doctors stationed on the island over the centuries–Engelbert Kaempfer in the late seventeenth century, Carl Thunberg in the eighteenth century and Philipp von Siebold in the early nineteenth century–were avid botanists, whose Japanese plant collections and descriptions were the first to reach Europe.

Hiraizumi’s comments were given additional weight by the fact that the blossoms of the Somei-yoshino cloned variety, which dominated the landscape by the 1930s, all bloomed and fell at the same time. That was a relatively new phenomenon. Before the mass plantings of Somei-yoshino in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries, cherry blossoms in Japan did not give such an impression. Indeed, what few realised was that the Somei-yoshino cherry had not even existed before the 1860s.

I can tell right away by looking at you what you want to eat," he says. "I can tell how many brothers and sisters you have." After divining my favorite color (blue) and my astrological sign (Aquarius), Nakamura pulls out an ivory stalk of takenoko, fresh young bamboo ubiquitous in Japan during the spring. "This came in this morning from Kagumi. It's so sweet that you can eat it raw." He peels off the outer layer, cuts a thin slice, and passes it across the counter. First, he scores an inch-thick bamboo steak with a ferocious santoku blade. Then he sears it in a dry sauté pan until the flesh softens and the natural sugars form a dark crust on the surface. While the bamboo cooks, he places two sacks of shirako, cod milt, under the broiler. ("Milt," by the way, is a euphemism for sperm. Cod sperm is everywhere in Japan in the winter and early spring, and despite the challenges its name might create for some, it's one of the most delicious things you can eat.) Nakamura brings it all together on a Meiji-era ceramic plate: caramelized bamboo brushed with soy, broiled cod milt topped with miso made from foraged mountain vegetables, and, for good measure, two lightly boiled fava beans. An edible postcard of spring. I take a bite, drop my chopsticks, and look up to find Nakamura staring right at me. "See, I told you I know what you want to eat." The rest of the dinner unfolds in a similar fashion: a little counter banter, a little product display, then back to transform my tastes and his ingredients into a cohesive unit. The hits keep coming: a staggering plate of sashimi filled with charbroiled tuna, surgically scored squid, thick circles of scallop, and tiny white shrimp blanketed in sea urchin: a lesson in the power of perfect product. A sparkling crab dashi topped with yuzu flowers: a meditation on the power of restraint. Warm mochi infused with cherry blossoms and topped with a crispy plank of broiled eel: a seasonal invention so delicious it defies explanation.

Finally, let's talk about those Kit Kat bars. There is no flavor that can be embodied in Kit Kat form and sold in Japanese stores. Green tea. Black tea. Miso. Cherry blossom. Soy sauce. Toasted soybean powder (kinako). Chile. Orange. Melon. Only a few are available at any given time, and right now, evil geniuses at Nestlé are coming up with new flavors. I'd like to suggest okonomiyaki flavor, which would consist of a bag of assorted flavors (ginger, squid, mountain yam, egg) that could be combined in the proportions of your choice, just like a real okonomiyaki. Sauce and Kewpie mayo optional. We bought a SkyTree orange Kit Kat, was a regular orange Kit Kat in a preposterously long box, and the Yubari melon Kit Kat, which tasted exactly like melon, was sold in a fancy gift box, and cost $200. Two-thirds of that is true.