Who at last became familiar with the secret of unity? Who is the wise man that is agnostic?

The world beneath the sky is a charming place, but its sun and moon are prone to decay.

The corpse of the sun is carried on the shoulders of the evening; the stars vanish when the moon appears.

The mountain flies like the moving sand, the river changes in a moment.

Autumn lies in ambush against the flowers; the merchandise of the caravan is the fear (of loss) of life.

The tulip does not retain its beauty through dew, if it retains it for a while; it loses it the next moment.

The sound dies in the harp without being produced; the flame dies in the stone without manifesting itself.

Don’t ask me about the universality of death, you and I are tied by our breaths to the chain of death.