A kind man who makes good use of wealth is rightly said to possess a great treasure; but the miser who hoards up his riches will have no profit.
Gautama BuddhaRead
Death carries off a man busy picking flowers with an besotted mind, like a great flood does a sleeping village.
Interpretation
Life is transient, and while we may be absorbed in our pursuits, we must remember that death is inevitable.
This quote by Gautama Buddha highlights the fragility of life and the unexpected nature of death. It serves as a reminder that being preoccupied with earthly concerns, like picking flowers, can lead us to overlook the reality that death can come at any moment, much like a great flood surging into a tranquil village, disrupting the peace and normalcy of life.
In practice
During a memorial service, to encourage reflection on life's fleeting nature.
A kind man who makes good use of wealth is rightly said to possess a great treasure; but the miser who hoards up his riches will have no profit.
There are having flowers in Spring, breezes in Summer, moon in Autumn, snows in Winter. If there is nothing worrying over you, it will be the best seasons at all times.
Make an island of yourself, make yourself your refuge; there is no other refuge. Make truth your island, make truth your refuge; there is no other refuge.
When a wise man is advised of his errors, he will reflect on and improve his conduct. When his misconduct is pointed out, a foolish man will not only disregard the advice but rather repeat the same error.
The tongue like a sharp knife ... Kills without drawing blood.
Care about your children. Just bless them instead of worrying, as every child is the little Buddha who helps his parents to grow up.
True perfection is a bold quest to seek. Only the willing and true of heart will seek the betterment of many.
The thing that you have to understand about those of us in the Black Muslim movement was that all of us believed 100 percent in the divinity of Elijah Muhammad. We believed in him. We actually believed that God, in Detroit by the way, that God had taught him and all of that. I always believed that he believed in himself. And I was shocked when I found out that he himself didn't believe it.
Sweet to think on it, that when we are last weary of all this world there is the rising sun
Night can swallow you up, yet none of it touches you. Around any corner, there's a promise of something daring and ideal and things are just getting going. There's something obscenely joyful behind every door, either that or somebody crying with their head in in their hands. A lazy rhythm looms in the dreamy air and the atmosphere pulsates with bygone duels, past-life romance, comrades requesting comrades to aid them in some way. You can't see it, but you know it's there
The alcohol smell is on my fingers, cold and remote, piercing like a steel pin going in. It smells like white enamel basins. When I look up at the stars in the nighttime, cold and white and sharp, I think they must smell like that.
You Christians look after a document containing enough dynamite to blow all civilisation to pieces, turn the world upside down and bring peace to a battle-torn planet. But you treat it as though it is nothing more than a piece of literature.
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