To quit this troubled world is better than to enter it: the rosebud enters the garden with straitened heart and departs smiling.

Formerly, people used to grieve over the departed, but in our days they grieve over the survivors.

If I am mad, then who on the face of the earth is sane? If you are sane, then there is no madman in the world.

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.

Peace is in proportion to every pause: observe the difference between to run, to walk, to stand, to sit, to lie, to die.

To the seeker after pearls, silence is a speaking argument, for no breath comes forth from the diver of the sea.

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