The vanity of human life is like a river, constantly passing away, and yet constantly coming on.

When to the Permanent is sacrificed the Mutable, the prize is thine: the drop returneth whence it came. The Open Path leads to the changeless change - Non-Being, the glorious state of Absoluteness, the Bliss past human thought.

Nor Fame I slight, nor her favors call.

Sickness is a sort of early old age; it teaches us a diffidence in our earthly state.

Amusement is the happiness of those who cannot think.

As the twig is bent, so grows the tree.

Death, only death, can break the lasting chain; And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain