A Quote by Matsuo Basho

Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer? — © Matsuo Basho
Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?
I will not play a farewell game with the national team. I would like to thank the federation for expressing an interest. But I prefer to leave football with an official match because I am not a fan of farewell games.
Scarcely a tear to shed; Hardly a word to say; The end of a Summer's day; Sweet Love is dead.
'Boys of Summer,' to me, is like the end of the summer, man. That heartbreaking feeling where you have to go back to school, your summer love is coming to an end, and the leaves are changing. That was always such an emotional time for me as a kid, because I loved summer so much.
I've gone from having a huge fan base to losing a huge fan base to having a kind of fluctuating fan base. I've always had a core of fans who've stuck by me but, depending on the kind of music I do, I end up appealing to certain groups of people and alienating others.
Another secret of the universe: Sometimes pain was like a storm that came out of nowhere. The clearest summer could end in a downpour. Could end in lightning and thunder.
Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content! Farewell the plumed troops, and the big wars That make ambition virtue.
Farewell, my friends! farewell, my foes! My peace with these, my love with those. The bursting tears my heart declare; Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr.
Farewell all relations and friends in Christ; farewell acquaintances and all earthly enjoyments; farewell reading and preaching, praying and believing, wanderings, reproaches, and sufferings.
If destiny could bring two people together, then it could just as easily tear them apart, and, if it could tear two people apart, then it could just as easily bring them back together again. There was no beginning, middle and end to destiny. It wasn't neat and manageable. It was random and scary.
It is no longer possible to escape men. Farewell to the monsters, farewell to the saints. Farewell to pride. All that is left is men.
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars That make ambition virtue! O, farewell! Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, th' ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
How could you make appeal to the future when not a trace of you, not even an anonymous word scribbled on a piece of paper, could physically survive?
I don't want to be a player that signs a long-term deal and towards the end is resented, either by the fan base, by the organization, or on my end for having my performance slip below what my contract dictates.
The secret was such an old one now, had so grown into me and become a part of myself, that I could not tear it away.
My fan base is really, really young. They're the youngest demographic that you can track on YouTube: 13- to 17-year-old females. But the fan mail that I get in my P.O. box, they're all from moms and from kids who are two years old, three years old, four years old.
So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear,Farewell remorse: all good to me is lost;Evil,be thou my good.
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