In this mortal frame of mine which is made of a hundred bones and nine orifices there is something, and this something is called a wind-swept spirit for lack of a better name, for it is much like a thin drapery that is torn and swept away at the slightest stir of the wind.
Matsuo Bashō, ‘The Records of a Travel-Worn Satchelʼ (after The Narrow Road to the Deep North and Other Travel Sketches, edited and translated by Nobuyuki Yuasa)
Thinking moves in circles and people appear to me like flies which always bump into the window pane when they try to get out into the open. Someone has got to open the window, but much work and leisure is required for that.
from a letter by Count Hans Ludwig Paul Yorck von Wartenburg to Wilhelm Dilthey
You ask me when I am coming. I do not know. I dream of your mountains and autumn pools brimming all night with the rain. Oh, when shall we be trimming wicks again, together in your western window? When shall I be hearing your voice again, all night in the rain?
THE JADE POOL
The Mother of Heaven, in her window by the Jade Pool, Hears The Yellow Bamboo Song shaking the whole earth. Where is Emperor Mu, with his eight horses running Ten thousand miles a day? Why has he never come back?