One lives in the hope of becoming a memory.
Injury, when it is slight, upsets me; when it is strong it calms me.
Would there be this eternal seeking if the found existed?
Human suffering, while it is asleep, is shapeless. If it is wakened it takes the form of the waker.
He who does not know how to believe, should not know.
When I look for my existence I do not look for it in myself.