I started reading "Hagakure," which was written by the samurai Yamamoto Tsunetomo from 1709 to 1716. I don't agree with everything in the book - some of the things Yamamoto-sama says sound crazy to my modern sensibilities, but there's some powerful quotes in here about bushido. Here's some I liked, with some thoughts of my own -
We all want to live. And in large part we make our logic according to what we like. But not having attained our aim and continuing to live is cowardice. This is a thin dangerous line. To die without gaming one's aim is a dog's death and fanaticism. But there is no shame in this. This is the substance of the Way of the Samurai. If by setting one's heart right every morning and evening, one is able to live as though his body were already dead, he pains freedom in the Way. His whole life will be without blame, and he will succeed in his calling.
The first book of philosophy on bushido I read was the Budoshoshinshu. It had a significant impact on my thinking. One of the largest tenets of bushido is keeping awareness of your death in mind when you live. I try to do this, because it gives you a sense of urgency and importance.
A lot of times the principle is misunderstood - the principle is actually make preparations as if you'll live forever, but live this day that you'd be proud if it was your last. Bushido is not about being reckless. It's about keeping awareness of the end with you, and in doing so, living much more.
It's almost paradoxical - the man who is aware of his death, who relinquishes his claim on life, he lives much more fully. The man who is ignorant of his death does not live as much. Death is not something to be afraid of - it's something to be aware of. Being aware of it makes you more alive, and more effective, and more purposeful.
Once days had passed
And past gone by
Time t'was to build statues
So that men of earth would remain up'n ground
And those who transcended
For statues have a certain way
Of transmutation into pleasant forgetfulness
That across the sands of Arabia
The grasped scimitar in Saladin's hand
Contained flesh and bones same as ours
T'would be dangerous indeed
If those grounded souls
Realized they had two eyes
And two lungs which which which
To see and breathe, much as van Gogh did
And worse, worse yet
To the necessity of grounding
Would be an identification
With a Corsican lieutenant
Or a young Virginian provincial officer
How well-cooked did Byron like his steaks,
And could not all of us dream and fancy?
And dream, as Shelly, and compose
Perhaps not well, perhaps not,
But at least enjoy the strain as they did?