Slowly blossomed, slowly ripened in Siddhartha the realisation, the knowledge, what wisdom actually was, what the goal of his long search was. It was nothing but a readiness of the soul, an ability, a secret art, to think every moment, while living his life, the thought of oneness, to be able to feel and inhale the oneness.

Did all this make sense?

I have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me.

Each man's life represents a road toward himself.

To be able to throw one's self away for the sake of a moment, to be able to sacrifice years for a woman's smile - that is happiness.

I felt knowledge and the unity of the world circulate in me like my own blood.

It is not for me to judge another man's life. I must judge, I must choose, I must spurn, purely for myself. For myself, alone.