Okakura Kakuzo Quotes

In joy or sadness, flowers are our constant friends.

Those who cannot feel the littleness of great things in themselves are apt to overlook the greatness of little things in others.

Teaism is a cult founded on the adoration of the beautiful among the sordid facts of everyday existence. It inculcates purity and harmony, the mystery of mutual charity, the romanticism of the social order. It is essentially a worship of the Imperfect, as it is a tender attempt to accomplish something possible in this impossible thing we know as life.

The art of life lies in a constant readjustment to our surroundings.

Translation is always a treason, and as a Ming author observes, can at its best be only the reverse side of a brocade- all the threads are there, but not the subtlety of colour or design.

In the liquid amber within the ivory porcelain, the initiated may touch the sweet reticence of Confucius, the piquancy of Laotse, and the ethereal aroma of Sakyamuni himself.

Everyone has to build anew his sky of hope and peace.

It has been said that man at ten is an animal, at twenty a lunatic, at thirty a failure, at forty a fraud, and at fifty a criminal.

Fain would we remain barbarians, if our claim to civilization were to be based on the gruesome glory of war.

For life is an expression, our unconscious actions the constant betrayal of our innermost thought.

New York City vagrant: "What sort of 'nese are you people? Are you Chinese, or Japanese, or Javanese?" Kakuzo Okakura responds: "We are Japanese gentleman. But what sort of 'key are you? Are you a Yankee, or a donkey, or a monkey?

We take refuge in pride because we are afraid to tell the truth to ourselves.

The Taoist and Zen conception of perfection... the dynamic nature of their philosophy laid more stress upon the process through which perfection was sought than upon perfection itself. True beauty could be discovered only by one who mentally completed the incomplete. The virility of life and art lay in its possibilities for growth.

A master has always something to offer, while we go hungry solely because of our own lack of appreciation.

In art, the present is the eternal.

Much has been said of the aesthetic values of chanoyu- the love of the subdued and austere- most commonly characterized by the term, wabi. Wabi originally suggested an atmosphere of desolation, both in the sense of solitariness and in the sense of the poverty of things. In the long history of various Japanese arts, the sense of wabi gradually came to take on a positive meaning to be recognized for its profound religious sense. ...the related term, sabi,... It was mid-winter, and the water's surface was covered with the withered leaves of the of the lotuses. Suddenly I realized that the flowers had not simply dried up, but that they embodied, in their decomposition, the fullness of life that would emerge again in their natural beauty.

One of the first requisites of a tea-master is the knowledge of how to sweep, clean, and wash, for there is an art in cleaning and dusting.

¿Cómo se puede tomar al mundo en serio, siendo el mundo tan ridículo?

Shrine after shrine has crumbled before our eyes; but one altar if forever preserved, that whereon we burn incense to the supreme idol,-ourselves.

In the worship of Bacchus, we have sacrificed too freely; and we have even transfigured the gory image of Mars. Why not consecrate ourselves to the queen of the Camelias,

Translation is always a treason, and as a Ming author observes, can at its best be only the reverse side of a brocade,--all the threads are there, but not the subtlety of colour or design.

There is a subtle charm in the taste of tea which makes it irresistible and capable of idealization. ... It has not the arrogance of wine, the self-consciousness of coffee, nor the simpering innocence of cocoa.

Tea with us became more than an idealization of the form of drinking; it is a religion of the art of life

Nothing is real to us but hunger, nothing sacred except our own desires. Shrine after shrine has crumbled before our eyes; but one altar is forever preserved, that whereon we burn incense to the supreme idol, - ourselves. Our God is great, and money is his Prophet!

One altar forever is preserved, that whereon we burn incense to the supreme idol,--ourselves, our god is great, and money is his Prophet! We devastate nature in order to make sacrifice to him; we boast that we have conquered Matter and forget that it is matter that has forever enslaved us.

Behold the complacent salesman retailing the Good and True. One can even buy a so-called Religion, which is really but common morality sanctified with flowers and music. Rob the Church of her accessories and what remains behind? Yet the trusts thrive marvelously, for the prices are absurdly cheap,--a prayer for a ticket to heaven, a diploma for an honorable citizenship.Hide yourself under a bushel quickly, for if your real usefulness were known to the world you would soon be knocked down to the highest bidder by the public auctioneer.

The art of today is that which really belongs to us: it is our own reflection. In condemning it we but condemn ourselves.

He entered the realm of art when he perceived the subtle use of the useless.

He catches a glimpse of Infinity, but words cannot voice his delight, for the eye has no tongue.

But, after all, we see only our own image in the universe-- our particular idiosyncrasies dictate the mode of our perceptions.

At birth he enters the realm of dreams only to awaken to reality at death.

Uniformity of design was considered as fatal to the freshness of imagination.

We should be foolish indeed if we valued their achievement simply on the score of age. Yet we allow our historical sympathy to override our aesthetic discrimination.

How can one be so serious with the world when the world itself is so ridiculous!

It is not that we should disregard the creations of the past, but that we should try to assimilate them into our consciousness. Slavish conformity to traditions and formulas fetters the expression of individuality in architecture.

Perfection is everywhere if we only choose to recognise it. Rikiu loved to quote an old poem which says: ‘To those who long only for flowers, fain would I show the full-blown spring which abides in the toiling buds of snow-covered hills.

It is not difficult to gather his meaning. He wished to create the attitude of a newly-awakened soul still lingering amid shadowy dreams of the past, yet bathing in the sweet unconsciousness of a mellow spiritual light, and yearning for the freedom that lay in the expanse beyond.

A cluster of summer trees, A bit of the sea, A pale evening moon. It is not difficult to gather his meaning. He wished to create the attitude of a newly-awakened soul still lingering amid shadowy dreams of the past, yet bathing in the sweet unconsciousness of a mellow spiritual light, and yearning for the freedom that lay in the expanse beyond.

This tumultuous sea of foolish troubles which we call life are constantly in a state of misery while vainly trying to appear happy and contented. We stagger in the attempt to keep our moral equilibrium, and see forerunners of the tempest in every cloud that floats on the horizon. Yet there is joy and beauty in the roll of the billows as they sweep outward toward eternity. Why not enter into their spirit, or, like Liehtse, ride upon the hurricane itself?

Tell me, gentle flowers, teardrops of the stars, standing in the garden, nodding your heads to the bees as they sing of the dews and the sunbeams, are you aware of the fearful doom that awaits you? Dream on, sway and frolic while you may in the gentle breezes of summer. To-morrow a ruthless hand will close around your throats. You will be wrenched, torn asunder limb by limb, and borne away from your quiet homes. The wretch, she may be passing fair. She may say how lovely you are while her fingers are still moist with your blood. Tell me, will this be kindness?

Oameni nu sunt invatati sa fie virtuosi, ci sa se comporte cum trebuie. Suntem rai pentru ca suntem prea constienti de propriul sine. Nu iertam niciodata pentru ca stim ca si noi gresim. Ne facem probleme de constiinta tocmai pentru ca ne e frica sa spunem adevarul in fata altora; ne refugiem in mandrie pentru ca ne temem sa recunoastem adevarul in fata propriei constiinte. Cum ar putea cineva sa ia lumea in serios, cand lumea in sine este un lucru ridicol?!

Oamenii nu sunt invatati sa fie virtuosi, ci sa se comporte cum trebuie. Suntem rai pentru ca suntem prea constienti de propriul sine. Nu iertam niciodata pentru ca stim ca si noi gresim. Ne facem probleme de constiinta tocmai pentru ca ne e frica sa spunem adevarul in fata altora; ne refugiem in mandrie pentru ca ne temem sa recunoastem adevarul in fata propriei constiinte. Cum ar putea cineva sa ia lumea in serios, cand lumea in sine este un lucru ridicol?!