The march of good fortune has backward slips: to retreat one or two paces gives wings to the jumper.

The wave is ignorant of the true nature of the sea: how can the temporal comprehend the eternal?

The weeping of the candle is not in mourning for the moth: the dawn is at hand, and it is thinking of its own dark night.

The march of good fortune has backward slips: to retreat one or two paces gives wings to the jumper.

Seek for the truth from the heart which is empty of thought.

When a man becomes old, his greed becomes young: sleep grows heavy at the time of morning.

When poison becomes a habit, it ceases to injure: make your soul gradually acquainted with death.