Seek for the truth from the heart which is empty of thought.
Formerly, people used to grieve over the departed, but in our days they grieve over the survivors.
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 roots of the aged palm tree exceed those of the young one; the old have a greater attachment to the world.
The wave is ignorant of the true nature of the sea: how can the temporal comprehend the eternal?
The march of good fortune has backward slips: to retreat one or two paces gives wings to the jumper.
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 life of this transitory world is the expectation of death: to renounce life is to escape from the expectation of annihilation.
Ten doors are opened if one door be shut: the finger is the interpreter of the dumb man's tongue.
Become placeless, for to change this place of water and clay is but to move from one prison to another.
What does it profit you that all the libraries of the world should be yours? Not knowledge but what one does with knowledge is your profit.
To quit this troubled world is better than to enter it: the rosebud enters the garden with straitened heart and departs smiling.
The touchstone of false friends is the day of need: by way of proof, ask a loan from your friends.
When poison becomes a habit, it ceases to injure: make your soul gradually acquainted with death.
The rosary in the hand, repentance on the lips, and the heart full of sinful longings-sin itself laughs at our repentance!
In this market every head has a different fancy: everyone winds his turban in a different fashion.
When a man becomes old, his greed becomes young: sleep grows heavy at the time of morning.
Flowers and fruit are never combined in one place: it is impossible that teeth and delicacies should exist simultaneously.
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.
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