The things ordained for you—teach yourself to be at one with those. And the people who share them with you—treat them with love. With real love.

And give up your thirst for books, so that you do not die a grouch, but in true grace and heartfelt gratitude to the god.

When jarred, unavoidably, by circumstance, revert at once to yourself, and don't lose the rhythm more than you can help. You'll have a better group of harmony if you keep on going back to it.

When it allows its action and impulse to be without a purpose, to be random and disconnected: even the smallest things ought to be directed toward a goal.

People out for posthumous fame forget that the Generations To Come will be the same annoying people they know now.

That way you'll see human life for what it is. Smoke. Nothing. Especially when you recall that once things alter they cease to exist through all the endless years to come. Then why such turmoil?

Death, like birth, is a secret of Nature.