Spring has passed, and summer must have arrived — white robes spread out to dry on heavenly Mount Kagu. — Empress Jito, Hyakunin Isshu #2

Deep in the mountains, treading the fallen red leaves, I hear the cry of the deer — that is when autumn feels saddest. — Sarumaru Dayu, Hyakunin Isshu #5

In the autumn rice field, by the rough harvest hut, the woven mats are loose — and my sleeves grow wet with dew through the night. — Emperor Tenji, Hyakunin Isshu #1

When I come out to Tago Bay and look — pure white, snow is still falling on the high peak of Mount Fuji. — Yamabe no Akahito, Hyakunin Isshu #4

Long as the trailing tail of a mountain pheasant, this endless autumn night — must I sleep through it alone? — Kakinomoto no Hitomaro, Hyakunin Isshu #3

Looking up across the wide plain of the sky — is that the same moon that rose over Mount Mikasa, in Kasuga, so long ago? — Abe no Nakamaro, written from China, longing for home

The blossom's color has faded away, in vain — while I gazed out at the long rains, lost in idle thoughts of love. — Ono no Komachi, Hyakunin Isshu #9

This, then, is the place — where those going and those returning, friend and stranger alike, all part and meet again: the Barrier of Osaka. — Semimaru, Hyakunin Isshu #10

Even the gods of the mighty ancient age never heard of such a thing — Tatsuta River, its waters tie-dyed crimson like Chinese brocade. — Ariwara no Narihira, Hyakunin Isshu #17

People's hearts I cannot know — but in my old village, the plum blossoms still bloom with the scent I knew long ago. — Ki no Tsurayuki, Hyakunin Isshu #35

We met by chance — but before I could be sure it was you, you slipped away, like the moon hidden behind midnight clouds. — Murasaki Shikibu, author of The Tale of Genji, Hyakunin Isshu #57

Though you crow falsely in the night to fool the rooster — the Barrier of Osaka, the gate of meeting, will never open. — Sei Shonagon, author of The Pillow Book, Hyakunin Isshu #62

Like a rapid stream split by a rock — though parted now, I believe we shall meet again in the end. — Retired Emperor Sutoku, Hyakunin Isshu #77

Let me die in spring, beneath the cherry blossoms — in the second month, beneath the full moon. — Saigyo (1118–1190). His wish was granted almost to the day.

As I wait for you, longing in my room, the autumn wind comes and stirs the bamboo blinds at my door. — Princess Nukata, waiting for Emperor Tenji. Man'yoshu, 7th century.

I look out far — no cherry blossoms, no crimson leaves. Only a reed-thatched hut beside an inlet, in the autumn dusk. — Fujiwara no Teika (1162–1241), Shinkokinshu

On the Shinano road, freshly cleared, the stubble is sharp — put on your sandals, my love, do not walk barefoot. — An anonymous Eastern song from the Man'yoshu, voicing ordinary tenderness.

Silver, gold, jewels — what good are they to me? No treasure can ever match my children. — Yamanoue no Okura (660–733), Man'yoshu

Mist trails across the spring meadow, and my heart grows quietly sad — in this evening light, a nightingale sings. — Otomo no Yakamochi (718–785), Man'yoshu

Even one who claims to feel nothing knows this sadness — a snipe rising from a marsh, an autumn evening. — Saigyo, Shinkokinshu

The thief left one thing behind — the moon at the window. — Ryokan (1758–1831), Zen monk and poet

On the white sand of the shore of a small eastern island, I weep, my face wet — and play with a crab. — Ishikawa Takuboku, A Handful of Sand (1910)

I work, and work, and still my life does not grow easier — I look down, quietly, at my hands. — Ishikawa Takuboku, A Handful of Sand (1910)

My black hair, my thousand strands of hair, my tangled hair — and the wild, tangled thoughts of love that tangle with it. — Yosano Akiko, Midaregami (Tangled Hair), 1901. A breakthrough in modern Japanese poetry.

"This one tastes good," you said — so July 6 will be Salad Anniversary. — Tawara Machi, Salad Anniversary (1987). The book that brought tanka into modern life.

Reason too much, and you bump into people. Feel too deeply, and you drift away. Hold too firmly to your will, and life feels cramped. In any case, this human world is hard to live in. — Natsume Soseki, Kusamakura (1906)

I am a cat. I do not yet have a name. I have no idea where I was born. — Natsume Soseki, I Am a Cat (1905). One of the most famous opening lines in Japanese literature.

I want to set down everything I know about myself — as long as one fellow human remains in this world who would learn from it. — Natsume Soseki, Kokoro (1914)

Mine has been a life of much shame. I cannot even imagine what a human being's life is like. — Dazai Osamu, No Longer Human (1948)

Melos was furious. He resolved that, no matter what, he must overthrow this wicked, violent king. — Dazai Osamu, Run, Melos! (1940). A retelling of Schiller, on friendship and trust.