Book: Siddhartha. Page 1

Not for me to define the ways other people's lives. Only for myself, for myself alone, I must decide, must choose, must reject.

And what a wonderful world when you look at it this way - so simple, so childish, without any aspirations!

Most people like falling leaves; they are in the air, whirling, but in the end fall to the ground. Others - some of them - like stars; they move along a certain path, no wind will cause them to deviate from it.

What one person considers to be his treasure and wisdom for another sounds like foolishness.
(Words in which one person finds pearls of wisdom for another sounds stupid.)

About each truth one can say something completely opposite to it, and it will be equally true.

Are you looking for too much; because of the excessive quest you don't have time to find.

The world is perfect in every moment, all the sins already carry their remission, at least the small child was already present, the old man, in any newly born baby is death, at least dying - eternal life. Any person can see how far the other has progressed in its path, the robber and gambler are waiting for Buddha, in the brahmana awaits the robber. I was convinced, body and soul, what sin to me was much needed, I was in need of adultery, of greed, of deslanoside and shameful despair to learn the renunciation of opposition, to learn to love the world, not to compare it more with the kind of welcome for me, my imaginary world, my fictional image of perfection, and leave it for what it is, and love him, and rejoice in the return of supplies...

When a person is looking for... happens to be his eyes only sees what he is looking for, and he was not able to find anything, unable to perceive anything, because thinking always only about you are trying to find, has a purpose, obsessed with this goal. To look means to have a purpose. But finding means to be free, wide open, not to have goals. You're really a seeker, because, striving for your goal, don't see that very close, in front of your eyes.

The knowledge you can convey, the wisdom - never. It can be found, it is possible to live, it is possible to make your sail, it can do miracles, but to put it into words, to teach her someone is impossible.

The world was captivated by his pleasure, sensuality, laziness, and, in the end the Vice, which he always considered the most ridiculous and which he held with the greatest contempt and mockery greed.

Him, inexperienced in love, disciple, ready again and again to blindly rush into the abyss of bliss, she patiently taught his doctrine: that it is impossible to take out bliss without bliss in return is that every movement, every touch, every look, every tiny piece of flesh is his secret, which promises a dedicated immense joy. She taught him that lovers should not leave after the celebration of love, not admiring each other, not beating each other and not because of each other that neither of them got fed up and was not filled with emptiness and bad feeling over them abused or he abused loved one.

How deaf and insensitive I was! he thought, walking tall. - Reading the writing does not despise in search of the meaning of signs and letters, does not call them a hoax, the case, nothing enclosing sheath, it reads them, imbued them with respect and love. I'm determined to read the book of life and book your own being, - I despised, for the sake of some pre-intended meaning, symbols and letters, I called the world of phenomena is a deception, called my eyes and tongue, random and useless things. No, it's over, I woke up, I really woke up and only now found life

He killed his senses, he killed the memories, he slipped away from his I thousands of other images were of animals, carrion, stone, wood, water, but every time the sun shone or the moon - he returned to his and I, carried away by the cycle, felt thirst, overcame the thirst, felt new thirst.