Life is as dear to the mute creature as it is to a man. Just as one wants happiness and fears pain, just as one wants to live and not to die, so do other creatures.
The voting booth joint is a great leveller, the whole neighbourhood – rich, poor, old, young, decrepit and spunky – they all turn out in one day.
For him who has completed the journey, for him who is sorrowless, for him who from everything is wholly free, for him who has destroyed all ties, the fever of passion exists not… He is like a pool, unsullied by mud; to such a balanced one, life’s wanderings do not arise. Calm is his mind, calm is his speech, calm is his action, who, rightly knowing, is wholly freed, perfectly peaceful and equipoised.
O soul, you worry too much. You have seen your own strength. You have seen your own beauty. You have seen your golden wings. Of anything less, why do you worry? You are in truth the soul, of the soul, of the soul.
