....The mortal who thinks of his gains or his honours or the favour of many men will be afraid of death when it falls upon him, Whatsoever it be in which the pleasure-crazed spirit takes its delight, that thing becomes a pain a thousand times greater. Therefore the wise man will seek not for pleasure, for from desire arises terror; and if it come of itself, let him stand firm and wait, Many there are who have found gain, many who have won fame; but none know whither they have gone, with their gains and their fame. Some loathe me; then why shall I rejoice in being praised? Some praise me; then why shall I be cast down by blame?
Living beings are of diverse character; not even the Conquerors can content them, much less simple souls such as I. Then why think of the world? They blame a fellow-creature who gains naught, they scorn him who gains something; being thus by nature unpleasant companions, what happiness can come from them? The Blessed Ones have said that the fool is no man's friend; for the fool has no love save where his interest lies. The love that rests on interest is but selfish, even as grief at loss of wealth springs from loss of pleasure.
Trees are not disdainful, and ask for no toilsome wooing; fain would I consort with those sweet
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companions! Fain would I dwell in some deserted sanctuary, beneath a tree or in caves, that I might walk without heed, looking never behind! Fain would I abide in nature's own spacious and lordless lands, a homeless wanderer free of will, my sole wealth a clay bowl, my cloak profitless to robbers, fearless and careless of my body! Fain would I go to my home the graveyard, and compare with other skeletons my own frail body! for this my body will become so foul that the very jackals will not approach it because of its stench. The bony members born with this corporeal frame will fall asunder from it, much more so my friends. Alone man is born, alone he dies; no other has a share in his sorrows. What avail friends, but to bar his way? As a wayfarer takes a, brief lodging, so he that is travelling through the way of existence finds in each birth but a passing rest.
It is well for a man to depart to the forest ere the four bearers (40) carry him away amidst the laments of his folk. Free from commerce and hindrance, possessing naught but his body, he has no grief at the hour of death, for already be has died to the world; no neighbours are there to vex him or disturb his remembrance of the Enlightened and like thoughts (41). Then I will ever woo sweet Solitude, untroubled dayspring of bliss, stilling all unrest. Released from all other thoughts, with mind utterly set upon my own
