No baser folly than the infatuation That takes the fleeting for the permanent. Great wealth, like a crowd at a concert, Gathers and melts. Perishable is the nature of wealth; if you obtain it, Forthwith do something not perishable. A day in reality is nothing but A relentless slicing of a saw through one's life. Better commit some good acts before the tongue Benumbs and deadly hiccup descends. The one who existed yesterday is no more today. That is the glory of earthly life. Men unsure of living the next moment, Make more than a million plans. The soul's link to the body Is like the bird that flies away from the nest. Death is like sleep, And birth an awakening from it. Is there no permanent refuge for the soul, Which takes a temporary shelter in the body?