Everyone Gives What He Has.

It Is Not For Me To Judge Another Man's Life. I Must Judge, I Must Choose, I Must Spurn, Purely For Myself. For Myself, Alone.

He Saw All These Forms And Faces In A Thousand Relationships Become Newly Born. Each One Was Mortal, A Passionate, Painful Example Of All That Is Transitory. Yet None Of Them Died, They Only Changed, Were Always Reborn, Continually Had A New Face: Only Time Stood Between One Face And Another.

I Am Much Inclined To Live From My Rucksack, And Let My Trousers Fray As They Like.

Without A Mother, One Cannot Love. Without A Mother, One Cannot Die.

Siddhartha Stopped Fighting His Fate This Very Hour, And He Stopped Suffering.