The wise man knows that it is better to sit on the banks of a remote mountain stream than to be emperor of the whole world.

The Way is to man as rivers and lakes are to fish, the natural condition of life.

But you now, you wear your soul on your sleeve, exhausting your energy, propping yourself up on a tree, mumbling, or bent over your desk, asleep. Heaven gives you a form and you wear it out by pointless argument.

The sage has the sun and moon by his side and the universe under his arm. He blends everything into a harmonious whole. . . . He blends the disparities of ten thousand years into one complete purity. All things are blended like this and mutually involve each other.

If water derives lucidity from stillness, how much more the faculties of the mind.

Listening stops with the ears, the mind stops with recognition, but spirit is empty and waits on all things.

An archer competing for a clay vessel shoots effortlessly, his or her skill and concentration unimpeded. If the prize is changed to a brass ornament, the hands begin to shake. If it is changed to gold, he or she squints as if going blind. The abilities do not deteriorate, but belief in them does, as he or she allows the supposed value of an external reward to cloud the vision.