Life is an activity with which we kill time while we wait for something, someone, or the mere passage of time to kill us.

This existence of ours is as transient as Autumn clouds. To watch the birth and death of beings is like looking at the movements of a dance. A lifetime is a flash of lightning in the sky. Rushing by, like a torrent down a steep mountain.

The wise always take cleansing baths. At the time of death, and at the time of birth, they are purified, when water is poured on their heads.

You are not a biomass, you were not born only to be like a bush or tree, just to marry, reproduce and die

Endless moons, an opaque universe, thunder, tornadoes, the quaking earth. Rare moments of peace; forehead up against my knees, arms around my head, I though, I listened, I longed not to exist. but life was there, a transparent pearl, a star revolving slowly on its own axis.

Death belongs to life as birth does. The walk is in the raising of the foot as in the laying of it down.