Buddha

A col­lec­tion of sayings of the Bud­dha tak­en from the Dham­ma­pa­da. Verse references such as 3 indicate the original source of the text, but donʼt imply a full quotation.

Contents

Pairs

1 Our life is shaped by our mind: itʼs ruled by our mind, itʼs made by our mind. If one speaks or acts with an evil mind, suf­fer­ing follows him, as the wheel follows the foot of the ox that draws the cart. 2 If one speaks or acts with a pure mind, hap­pi­ness follows him, like a shad­ow that nev­er leaves him.

3 “He insulted me, hit me, defeated me, robbed me.” In those who har­bor such thoughts, ha­tred will nev­er cease. 4 In those who donʼt har­bor such thoughts, ha­tred will cease. 5 For ha­tred nev­er ceases by ha­tred. Ha­tred ceases by love. 6 Some donʼt re­al­ize that we all must die, but those who do re­al­ize it cease their quarrels at once.

7 Just as the wind throws down a weak tree, so will the temp­ter over­throw him who fo­cus­es on­ly on pleasures, his sen­ses un­con­trolled, im­mod­er­ate in his food, i­dle, and weak. 8 Just as the wind can­not throw down a rocky moun­tain, so the temp­ter will not over­throw him who does not fo­cus on pleasures, his sen­ses well con­trolled, mod­er­ate in his food, faith­ful and strong.

9 He who puts on the monkʼs yel­low robe with­out hav­ing cleansed him­self from sin, who dis­re­gards self-control and truth, is un­wor­thy of the robe. 10 But he who has cleansed him­self from sin, is well grounded in vir­tues, and regards self-control and truth, is in­deed wor­thy of the robe.

11 They who mis­take the triv­i­al for the es­sen­tial, and the es­sen­tial for the triv­i­al, nev­er ar­rive at the es­sen­tial, but fol­low vain desires. 12 They who know the es­sen­tial as es­sen­tial, and the triv­i­al as triv­i­al, ar­rive at the es­sen­tial, and fol­low true desires.

13 Just as rain seeps through a poor­ly tha­tched house, pas­sion seeps through an un­de­vel­oped mind. 14 Just as rain can­not seep through a well tha­tched house, pas­sion can­not seep through a well de­vel­oped mind.

15 The evil­do­er grieves in both this world and the next. He grieves and suffers when he sees the evil of his own work. 16 The vir­tu­ous man delights in both this world and the next. He delights and rejoices when he sees the pu­ri­ty of his own work.

17 The evil­do­er suffers both in this world and the next. He suffers when he thinks of the evil he has done. He suffers more when go­ing to the next world. 18 The vir­tu­ous man is hap­py both in this world and the next. He is hap­py when he thinks of the good he has done. He is hap­pi­er still when go­ing to the next world.

19 The thought­less man, if he recites many scrip­tures, but does­nʼt do what they say, has no share in the blessings of the ho­ly life, but is like a cow­herd counting the cows of others. 20 He who recites on­ly a few scrip­tures, but does what they say, hav­ing for­sak­en lust and ha­tred and de­lu­sion, possesses true knowl­edge and se­ren­i­ty of mind, car­ing for noth­ing in this world or that to come, he shares in the blessings of the ho­ly life.

Vigilance

21 Vig­i­lance is the path to sal­va­tion. Care­less­ness is the path to death. Those who are vig­i­lant donʼt die. Those who are care­less are as if dead al­ready. 22 The wise, hav­ing un­der­stood this clear­ly, de­light in vig­i­lance, and re­joice in the knowl­edge of the no­ble ones. 23 These wise peo­ple, meditative, stead­fast­ly per­se­ver­ing, at­tain to sal­va­tion, the highest hap­pi­ness.

24 If a vig­i­lant per­son is en­er­get­ic, if he is mind­ful, if his deeds are pure, if he acts with con­sid­er­a­tion, if he has self-control, and is right­eous, then his glo­ry will in­crease. 25 By ef­fort, by vig­i­lance, by dis­ci­pline and self-control, the wise man may make for him­self an is­land which no flood can over­whelm.

26 The fool­ish and ig­no­rant in­dulge in care­less­ness. The wise man keeps vig­i­lance as his great­est treas­ure. 27 Donʼt give way to care­less­ness or to the en­joy­ment of sen­su­al pleasures. He who is vig­i­lant and meditative, obtains am­ple joy.

28 When the wise man drives a­way care­less­ness by vig­i­lance, he climbs the tow­er of wis­dom and looks down up­on the fools. With­out suf­fer­ing, he looks at the suf­fer­ing crowd, as one that stands on a moun­tain looks at them that stand on the ground be­low.

29 Vig­i­lant a­mong the care­less, a­wake a­mong the sleep­ing, the wise man ad­vanc­es like a fast horse, leav­ing the weak be­hind. 30 Vig­i­lance is al­ways praised; care­less­ness is al­ways de­spised.

31 The monk who delights in vig­i­lance, who looks with fear at care­less­ness: moves about like fire, burn­ing all fetters, small and large; 32 can­not fall a­way. He is close to sal­va­tion.

Mind

33 Just as a fletch­er straight­ens his ar­row, a wise man straight­ens his trem­bling and un­steady mind, which is dif­fi­cult to guard, dif­fi­cult to re­strain.

34 Just as a fish quivers when tak­en from its home in the wa­ter and thrown on land, our mind trem­bles all over to es­cape the in­flu­ence of the temp­ter.

35 Itʼs good to tame the mind, which is dif­fi­cult to tame and flighty, rush­ing wher­ev­er it wants. A tamed mind brings hap­pi­ness. 36 Let the wise man guard his mind, for itʼs sub­tle and e­lu­sive, and it rushes wher­ev­er it wants. A guard­ed mind brings hap­pi­ness.

37 The mind wanders far, moves about a­lone, is with­out a body, and hides in the ca­ve of the heart. Those who bri­dle it are free from the bonds of the temp­ter.

38 If a manʼs mind is un­steady, if he does­nʼt know the true law, and if his faith is troubled, then his knowl­edge will nev­er be per­fect. 39 If a manʼs mind is free from pas­sion, if his mind is free from ill will, if heʼs un­af­fect­ed by good and evil, then thereʼs no dan­ger for him.

40 Know­ing that this body is frag­ile like a clay pot, and securing this mind like a for­tress, at­tack the temp­ter with the sword of knowl­edge. Then guard what is won with­out feel­ing at­tach­ment to it. 41 Soon, this body will lie on the ground, dis­carded, with­out con­scious­ness, like a use­less log.

42 What­ev­er an en­e­my might do to an en­e­my, or a foe to a foe, a wrong­ly di­rect­ed mind can do to you e­ven worse. 43 What­ev­er a moth­er, a fa­ther, or any oth­er rel­a­tive might do for you, a well di­rect­ed mind can do for you e­ven more.

Flowers

44 Who will over­come this earth, and the world of the dead, and the world of the gods? Who will choose the well taught path of vir­tue, as an ex­pert flo­rist chooses the right flow­er? 45 A dis­ci­ple will.

46 Know­ing that this body is like froth, and learn­ing that it is in­sub­stan­tial like a mi­rage, you will re­move the flower-tipped ar­rows of the temp­ter, and nev­er see the king of death.

47 As a flood sweeps a­way a sleep­ing vil­lage, so death sweeps a­way a man who is im­mersed in gath­er­ing flowers, his mind dis­tract­ed. 48 Death subdues a man who is im­mersed in gath­er­ing flowers, his mind dis­tract­ed, be­fore heʼs sa­ti­at­ed in his pleasures.

49 As a bee collects nec­tar and departs with­out dam­ag­ing the flow­er or its col­or or its scent, so should a sage col­lect alms in a vil­lage.

50 Donʼt no­tice the faults of others, their sins of com­mis­sion or o­mis­sion, but no­tice your own mis­con­duct and neg­li­gence.

51 Like a beau­ti­ful flow­er, full of col­or but with­out scent, are fair but fruit­less words of him who does­nʼt prac­tice them. 52 But, like a beau­ti­ful flow­er, full of col­or and full of scent, are fair and fruit­ful words of him who practices them.

53 Just as many wreaths can be made from a heap of flowers, so can many good things be done by a mor­tal.

54 The scent of flowers does­nʼt trav­el against the wind, not e­ven that of san­dal­wood, tagara, or jas­mine; but the rep­u­ta­tion of the vir­tu­ous does trav­el against the wind. The rep­u­ta­tion of the vir­tu­ous pervades eve­ry place. 55 A­mong the scent of san­dal­wood, tagara, lo­tus, and jas­mine, the scent of vir­tue is un­sur­passed.

56 The scent that co­mes from tagara and san­dal­wood is faint. The scent of the vir­tu­ous is best, it rises up to the gods.

58 On a gar­bage heap by the roadside, a lo­tus grows full of sweet per­fume and de­light. 59 Like­wise, on a gar­bage heap of blind mortals, a true dis­ci­ple of the Bud­dha shines forth in wis­dom.

The Fool

60 The night is long to the sleep­less; a mile is long to the tired; life is long to the fool­ish who donʼt know the true law.

61 If a trav­el­er does­nʼt meet a com­pan­ion who is his bet­ter or his e­qual, let him firm­ly keep to his sol­i­tary jour­ney. There is no com­pan­ion­ship with a fool. 62 He worries, “I have sons and wealth,” but he him­self is not his own, how much less sons and wealth?

63 A fool who knows his own fool­ish­ness is wise to that ex­tent. But a fool who thinks he is wise is a fool in­deed.

64 E­ven if a fool as­so­ci­ates with a wise man all his life, he will per­ceive the truth no more than a spoon perceives the fla­vor of soup. 65 If an in­tel­li­gent man as­so­ci­ates with a wise man for on­ly one min­ute, he will soon per­ceive the truth as the tongue perceives the taste of soup.

66 Fools of lit­tle un­der­stand­ing are their own enemies, for they do evil deeds that bear bit­ter fruit. 67 That deed is poor­ly done if a man must re­pent af­ter­ward and its re­ward is cry­ing and a tear­ful face. 68 That deed is well done if a man does not re­pent af­ter­ward and its re­ward is de­light and hap­pi­ness.

69 As long as an evil deed does­nʼt bear fruit, the fool thinks itʼs like hon­ey. But when it ripens, then the fool suffers grief.

70 E­ven if a fool, month af­ter month, eats his food like an as­cet­ic with the tip of a blade of grass, he is­nʼt worth e­ven one six­teenth of those who have un­der­stood the truth.

71 An evil deed, like fresh­ly drawn milk, does­nʼt sour im­me­di­ate­ly; it follows the fool, smol­der­ing, like fire cov­ered by ash­es.

73 The fool wishes for a false rep­u­ta­tion, for prec­e­dence a­mong monks, for au­thor­i­ty in the mon­as­teries, for hon­or a­mong oth­er peo­ple. 74 “May both laymen and monks think that I did it. Let them o­bey me in eve­ry­thing, great and small.” Such is the mind of the fool, and thus his de­sire and pride in­crease.

75 One road leads to wealth, an­oth­er road leads to sal­va­tion. If the monk, a dis­ci­ple of Bud­dha, has learn­ed this, he wonʼt yearn for hon­or, heʼll strive for sep­a­ra­tion from the world.

The Wise

76 If you find a wise man who points out faults, and who reproves, fol­low that wise man as one would fol­low a guide to hid­den treas­ure. Itʼll be bet­ter, not worse, for those who fol­low him. 77 Let him ad­mon­ish, let him teach, let him re­strain you from whatʼs im­prop­er. The good will love him. The bad will hate him.

78 Donʼt have evildoers as companions, donʼt have vile peo­ple as friends. Have vir­tu­ous peo­ple as companions, have the best as friends.

79 He who drinks in the law lives hap­pi­ly with a se­rene mind. The wise man rejoices al­ways in the law, as preached by the no­ble ones.

80 Irrigators guide the wa­ter. Fletchers straight­en the ar­row. Carpenters shape the wood. The wise con­trol them­selves.

81 Just as a sol­id rock is not shak­en by the wind, the wise donʼt fal­ter a­midst blame or praise. 82 Af­ter theyʼve listened to the law, the wise be­come se­rene, like a deep, smooth, and still lake.

83 The good keep walk­ing what­ev­er happens. The good donʼt prat­tle, long­ing for pleas­ure. Wheth­er touched by hap­pi­ness or sor­row, the wise nev­er ap­pear e­lat­ed or de­pressed.

84 A man is good, wise, and vir­tu­ous if he does no wrong for his own sake or for the sake of others; if he wishes nei­ther for wealth, a son, or a king­dom; and if he does­nʼt wish for suc­cess by un­fair means.

85 Few a­mong men ar­rive at the oth­er shore. The rest run up and down on this shore. 86 But those who fol­low the law, when it has been well taught to them, will ar­rive at the oth­er shore hav­ing crossed the do­min­ion of death, how­ev­er dif­fi­cult to over­come.

87 Let a wise man leave the dark way, and fol­low the bright path. Af­ter go­ing from his home to home­less­ness, let him yearn for de­light in de­tach­ment, so dif­fi­cult to en­joy. 88 Leav­ing all pleasures be­hind, and call­ing noth­ing his own, let the wise man cleanse him­self of that which defiles the mind. 89 Those whose minds are well grounded in the factors of en­light­en­ment, who with­out cling­ing to any­thing, re­joice in free­dom from at­tach­ment, whose ap­pe­tites have been conquered, and who are full of light, are free e­ven in this world.

The Saint

91 The mind­ful strive dil­i­gent­ly. Theyʼre not at­tached to any home. Like swans who leave a lake, they leave their house and home.

92 Like birds in the air, the path of the saint is hard to trace. They have no rich­es, are wise re­gard­ing food, and their ob­jec­tive is emp­ti­ness and free­dom.

94 E­ven the gods adore him whose sen­ses have been sub­dued, like hors­es well trained by a char­i­ot­eer, whoʼs free from pride, and free from ap­pe­tites. 95 Like the earth, heʼs not pro­voked. Heʼs firm like a pil­lar. Heʼs like a pure lake with­out mud. No new births are in store for him.

96 His mind is calm, and calm are his words and deeds. By true knowl­edge he has obtained free­dom, and thus be­come tran­quil.

98 In a vil­lage or in a for­est, in a val­ley or on a hill, wher­ev­er saints dwell, that place is de­light­ful. 99 De­light­ful are the forests in which the crowds find no pleas­ure. Those with­out pas­sion will find de­light there, for they donʼt seek pleas­ure.

Thousands

100 Bet­ter than a speech of a thou­sand vain words is one thought­ful word, hear­ing which brings peace. 101 Bet­ter than a po­em of a thou­sand vain verses is one thought­ful verse, hear­ing which brings peace.

103 Greater than he who conquers a thou­sand times a thou­sand men in bat­tle, is he who conquerors just one—him­self. 104 Itʼs far bet­ter to con­quer one­self than to con­quer others. 105 For a man who has conquered him­self and al­ways lives with self-control, not e­ven a god, an an­gel, or a de­mon with a god can change that vic­to­ry in­to de­feat.

106 A man could sac­ri­fice by the thousands for month af­ter month for a hun­dred years, or he could pay hom­age for one mo­ment to a man liv­ing in wis­dom. Bet­ter is that hom­age than sac­ri­fices for a cen­tu­ry. 107 A man could tend the sac­ri­fi­cial fire in the for­est for a hun­dred years, or he could pay hom­age for one mo­ment to a man liv­ing in wis­dom. Bet­ter is that hom­age than sac­ri­fices for a cen­tu­ry. 108 In this world, a man may make sac­ri­fices and oblations for a whole year in or­der to gain mer­it, yet all of itʼs not worth a quar­ter of the mer­it gained by re­ver­ing the right­eous.

109 For him who al­ways respects and hon­ors the wise, four things will in­crease: life, beau­ty, hap­pi­ness, pow­er.

110 Bet­ter than a hun­dred years lived im­mor­al and un­re­strained, is one day lived vir­tu­ous and re­flec­ting. 111 Bet­ter than a hun­dred years lived ig­no­rant and un­re­strained, is one day lived wise and re­flec­ting. 112 Bet­ter than a hun­dred years i­dle and weak, is one day lived en­er­get­ic and firm.

Evil

116 Has­ten to do good. Keep your mind from evil. If a man is slow to do good, his mind delights in evil.

117 If a man does what is evil, let him not do it again and again. Let him not de­light in it, for ac­cu­mu­lat­ing evil brings pain. 118 If a man does what is good, let him do it again and again. Let him de­light in it, for ac­cu­mu­lat­ing good brings joy.

119 E­ven an evil­do­er may be hap­py be­fore his evil deed ripens, but when it ripens, he suffers. 120 E­ven a good man may suf­fer be­fore his good deed ripens, but when it ripens, he is hap­py.

121 Let no man think light­ly of evil, say­ing in his heart, “It wonʼt a­mount to much.” As a wa­ter pot is filled by the fall­ing of wa­ter drops, so the fool be­comes full of evil, e­ven if he gathers it lit­tle by lit­tle. 122 Let no man think light­ly of good, say­ing in his heart, “It wonʼt a­mount to much.” As a wa­ter pot is filled by the fall­ing of wa­ter drops, so the wise man be­comes full of good, e­ven if he gathers it lit­tle by lit­tle.

123 Let a man a­void evil deeds, as a wealthy mer­chant with few companions avoids a dan­ger­ous road; as a man who loves life avoids poi­son.

125 If a man offends a harm­less, pure, and in­no­cent per­son, the evil falls back up­on that fool, like dust thrown against the wind.

127 Not in the sky, not in the mid­dle of the sea, not in a cleft of the mountains, is there a spot to be found where a man can es­cape from the con­se­quenc­es of his evil deed. 128 Not in the sky, not in the mid­dle of the sea, not in a cleft of the mountains, is there a spot to be found where a man wonʼt be over­come by death.

Punishment

129 Eve­ry­one trem­bles at pun­ish­ment, eve­ry­one fears death. Put­ting your­self in his place, donʼt kill or cause others to kill. 130 Eve­ry­one trem­bles at pun­ish­ment, eve­ry­one loves his own life. Put­ting your­self in his place, donʼt kill or cause others to kill.

131 He who, seek­ing hap­pi­ness, punishes beings who al­so de­sire hap­pi­ness, wonʼt find hap­pi­ness af­ter death. 132 He who, seek­ing hap­pi­ness, does­nʼt pun­ish beings who al­so de­sire hap­pi­ness, will find hap­pi­ness af­ter death.

133 Speak harsh­ly to no one, or those who are spo­ken to will an­swer you in the same way. Con­ten­tious speech hurts, and re­tal­i­a­tion will come to you. 134 If your mind is still, like a bro­ken gong, you have at­tained sal­va­tion, for thereʼs no con­ten­tion in you.

135 As a cow­herd drives cows to pas­ture with a staff, so aging and death drive the life of men. 136 A fool does­nʼt re­al­ize when he commits evil, but he suffers for those deeds as if burned by fire.

137 He who inflicts pain on the in­no­cent and un­armed will soon suf­fer in one of these ten ways: 138 se­vere pain, im­pov­er­ish­ment, bod­i­ly in­ju­ry, se­ri­ous ill­ness, men­tal ill­ness, 139 trou­ble from the gov­ern­ment, a fear­ful ac­cu­sa­tion, loss of relatives, loss of wealth, 140 or fire will de­stroy his hous­es. When his body is destroyed, the fool will go to hell.

141 Nei­ther na­ked­ness, nor mat­ted hair, nor dirt, nor fasting, nor ly­ing on the earth, nor rub­bing with dust, nor sit­ting mo­tion­less, can pu­ri­fy a mor­tal who has not over­come doubt. 142 He who exercises tran­quil­i­ty, is qui­et, sub­dued, re­strained, chaste, and has set a­side vi­o­lence to­wards all others, he in­deed is a ho­ly man, an as­cet­ic, a monk, e­ven if dressed in fi­ne ap­par­el.

143 Who in this world is so re­strained by con­science that he needs no re­proof, as a fi­ne horse needs no whip? 144 Like a fi­ne horse when touched by the whip, be ac­tive and live­ly. By faith, by vir­tue, by ef­fort, by med­i­ta­tion, by dis­cern­ing the truth, by per­fect knowl­edge and con­duct, by mind­ful­ness, you will leave this pain be­hind.

145 Irrigators guide the wa­ter. Fletchers straight­en the ar­row. Carpenters shape the wood. Good peo­ple fash­ion them­selves.

Old Age

146 Why is there laugh­ter and joy when this world is al­ways burn­ing? Sur­round­ed by dark­ness, donʼt you look for a light?

147 Look at this body—a paint­ed im­age, cov­ered with festering wounds, sick­ly, full of many thoughts—nei­ther last­ing nor sta­ble. 148 This body is worn out, full of sick­ness, and frail. This heap of cor­rup­tion breaks to pieces, for life in­deed ends with death. 149 These white bones are like gourds thrown a­way in the au­tumn. What pleas­ure is there in see­ing them?

150 A city made of bones is cov­ered with flesh and blood. Liv­ing in it are old age and death, pride and de­ceit. 151 The beau­ti­ful chariots of kings get worn out and so does the body. But the vir­tue of good peo­ple does­nʼt age: thus do the good say a­mong them­selves.

152 A man who has learn­ed lit­tle grows old like an ox. His body grows, but his wis­dom does­nʼt.

153 I roamed through many births, with­out re­ward and with­out rest, looking for the build­er of this house. Pain­ful is birth again and again. 154 But now, build­er of this house, I have seen you. You wonʼt build this house again. All your rafters are bro­ken, your ridge pole is dis­man­tled. My mind has at­tained the ex­tinc­tion of all desires.

155 Those who, in their youth, have­nʼt lived the ho­ly life nor gained wealth per­ish like old herons in a lake with­out fish. 156 They lie sighing over the past like ar­rows misfired from a bow.

Self

157 If a man holds him­self dear, let him watch him­self care­ful­ly. Let a wise man keep vig­il dur­ing one of the three watches of the night.

158 Let each man first di­rect him­self to what is prop­er, then let him teach others. Thus a wise man wonʼt be re­proached.

159 If a man makes him­self as he teaches others to be, then, be­ing him­self well tamed, he may tame others. Oneʼs self is in­deed dif­fi­cult to tame.

160 A man is tru­ly his own pro­tec­tor. Who else could be the pro­tec­tor? With self well con­trolled, one finds a pro­tec­tor such as few can find.

161 The evil a fool­ish man does by him­self, self-born, self-created, grinds him down, as a dia­mond breaks a hard gem. 162 When over­spread with great wick­ed­ness, like a tree cov­ered by vines, a man brings him­self down to where his en­e­my wishes. 163 Evil deeds, which harm our­selves, are easy to do. Good and ben­e­fi­cial deeds are very dif­fi­cult to do.

165 Evil is done by one­self, by one­self one is de­filed. Evil is left un­done by one­self, by one­self is one pu­ri­fied. Pu­ri­ty and im­pu­ri­ty are oneʼs own do­ing. No one can pu­ri­fy an­oth­er.

166 Let no man sac­ri­fice his own wel­fare for that of an­oth­er, how­ev­er great. Let a man, af­ter dis­cern­ing his own wel­fare, be al­ways at­ten­tive to it.

The World

167 Donʼt fol­low vul­gar ways. Donʼt live with aban­don. Donʼt fol­low false doc­trine. Donʼt be a friend of the world.

168 Wake up! Donʼt be i­dle. Live a vir­tu­ous life. The vir­tu­ous sleeps with ease in this world and the next. 169 Live a vir­tu­ous life. Donʼt live a life of sin. The vir­tu­ous sleeps with ease in this world and the next.

170 The king of death does­nʼt see him who looks up­on the world as a bub­ble, as a mi­rage. 171 Come look at this world, dec­o­rat­ed like a roy­al char­i­ot. Fools are im­mersed in it, but the wise donʼt cling to it.

172 He who was reck­less and then be­comes mind­ful, brightens up this world like the moon when freed from clouds. 173 He who replaces evil deeds with good deeds, brightens up this world, like the moon when freed from clouds.

174 In this dark world, on­ly a few can see. On­ly a few, like birds es­cap­ing from the net, go to heav­en. 175 Swans fly on the path of the sun, through the air by their won­der­ful pow­er. The wise flee from the world af­ter defeating the temp­ter and his armies.

176 A man who trans­gresses the one law, speaks lies, and scoffs at the world be­yond is ca­pa­ble of any evil.

177 Misers donʼt go to the world of the gods; nei­ther do fools praise gen­er­os­i­ty. A wise man rejoices in gen­er­os­i­ty, and through it be­comes bless­ed in the world be­yond.

178 The first step to­wards ho­li­ness is bet­ter than sov­er­eign­ty over the earth, bet­ter than go­ing to heav­en, and bet­ter than be­ing lord over all the worlds.

The Awakened

181 E­ven the gods en­vy those who are awakened, who are de­vot­ed to med­i­ta­tion, who are wise, and who de­light in the calm of re­nun­ci­a­tion.

182 Itʼs dif­fi­cult to ob­tain a hu­man birth, dif­fi­cult is the life of mortals. Itʼs dif­fi­cult to ob­tain the chance to hear the true law, dif­fi­cult is the birth of the awakened.

183 To a­void all evil, to cul­ti­vate good, and to pu­ri­fy oneʼs mind, that is the teach­ing of the awakened. 184 Pa­tient en­dur­ance is the highest aus­ter­i­ty. “Sal­va­tion is su­preme”, say the awakened. He is no monk who injures others. He is no as­cet­ic who insults others. 185 Not to re­vile, not to in­jure, to live re­strained un­der the law, to be mod­er­ate in food, to live in sol­i­tude, and to dwell on the highest thoughts: this is the teach­ing of the awakened.

186 Thereʼs no way to sat­is­fy lusts, e­ven with a show­er of gold coins. He is wise who knows that lusts give lit­tle sat­is­fac­tion and much pain. 187 E­ven in heav­en­ly pleasures the wise finds no de­light. The dis­ci­ple who is ful­ly awakened delights on­ly in the de­struc­tion of crav­ing.

188 When threat­en­ed with dan­ger, men go to many a ref­uge: to mountains and forests, to groves and shrines. 189 But thatʼs not a se­cure ref­uge, thatʼs not the best ref­uge. A man is­nʼt delivered from all pain af­ter go­ing to that ref­uge.

190 He who takes ref­uge with the law, the awakened, and their or­der, sees with clear un­der­stand­ing the four ho­ly truths: 191 pain, the cause of pain, the de­struc­tion of pain, and the ho­ly eight­fold path that leads to the quieting of pain; 192 Thatʼs a se­cure ref­uge, thatʼs the best ref­uge. Af­ter go­ing to that ref­uge, a man is delivered from all pain.

193 An awakened man is hard to find. Heʼs not born eve­ry­where. Wher­ev­er such a wise man is born, that clan prospers.

194 Bless­ed is the arising of awakened ones, bless­ed is the teach­ing of the true law, bless­ed is har­mo­ny in the or­der, bless­ed is the de­vo­tion of those who are at peace.

195 He who reveres those who de­serve rev­er­ence—the awakened ones or their dis­ci­ples, who have over­come all obstacles, sor­row, and lam­en­ta­tion, 196 who found de­liv­er­ance and know no fear—his mer­it can nev­er be meas­ured.

Happiness

197 We live hap­pi­ly, not hat­ing those who hate us. When a­mong men who hate us, we dwell with­out ha­tred. 198 We live hap­pi­ly, with­out ill­ness a­mong the ill. When a­mong men who are ill, we dwell with­out ill­ness. 199 We live hap­pi­ly, with­out greed a­mong the greedy. When a­mong men who are greedy, we dwell with­out greed. 200 We live hap­pi­ly, we who own noth­ing.

201 Vic­to­ry breeds ha­tred, for the conquered live in pain. The con­tent­ed is hap­py, hav­ing giv­en up both vic­to­ry and de­feat.

202 There is no fire like lust, no loss like ha­tred, no pain like this ex­ist­ence, and no hap­pi­ness higher than peace.

203 Hun­ger is the worst dis­ease, this ex­ist­ence the great­est pain. If one tru­ly knows this, he realizes sal­va­tion, the highest hap­pi­ness. 204 Health is the great­est gift, con­tent­ment the great­est wealth. Trust is the best kins­man, sal­va­tion the highest hap­pi­ness.

205 He who has savored the taste of sol­i­tude and tran­quil­i­ty is free from fear and evil, refreshed with the nour­ish­ment of the law.

206 The sight of no­ble ones is good. To live with them is al­ways hap­pi­ness. If a man does­nʼt see fools, he will be tru­ly hap­py.

207 He who walks with fools suffers for a long time. Com­pa­ny with fools, as with an en­e­my, is al­ways pain­ful. Com­pa­ny with the wise is a pleas­ure, like re­un­ion with fam­i­ly. 208 There­fore, fol­low the wise, the in­tel­li­gent, the learn­ed, the stead­fast, the du­ti­ful, the no­ble. Fol­low a good and dis­cern­ing man, as the moon follows the path of the stars.

Pleasure

209 He who gives him­self to van­i­ty, in­stead of to med­i­ta­tion, who forgets the goal and grasps at pleas­ure, will come to en­vy him who has exerted him­self.

210 Donʼt seek for whatʼs pleas­ant or un­pleas­ant, for itʼs pain not to see the pleas­ant, and itʼs pain to see whatʼs un­pleas­ant. 211 There­fore, let no man hold any­thing dear, for loss of the dear is pain­ful. Those who hold noth­ing dear and hate noth­ing have no fetters.

212 From pleas­ure co­mes grief, from pleas­ure co­mes fear. He who is free from pleas­ure knows nei­ther grief nor fear. 213 From af­fec­tion co­mes grief, from af­fec­tion co­mes fear. He who is free from af­fec­tion knows nei­ther grief nor fear. 214 From at­tach­ment co­mes grief, from at­tach­ment co­mes fear. He who is free from at­tach­ment knows nei­ther grief nor fear. 215 From lust co­mes grief, from lust co­mes fear. He who is free from lust knows nei­ther grief nor fear. 216 From crav­ing co­mes grief, from crav­ing co­mes fear. He who is free from crav­ing knows nei­ther grief nor fear.

217 He who has vir­tue and in­sight, who is just, who speaks the truth, and does his own busi­ness, him the world holds dear.

219 Fam­i­ly, friends, and well-wishers wel­come a man long ab­sent who returns safe­ly from afar. 220 As fam­i­ly receives a friend on his re­turn, so do his good works wel­come him who has done good, and has gone from this world to the next.

Anger

221 Let a man leave an­ger, for­sake pride, and over­come all bond­age. No suf­fer­ing befalls the man who is de­tached from name and form, and who calls noth­ing his own.

223 Over­come an­ger with love, evil with good, greed with gen­er­os­i­ty, and lies with truth. 224 Speak the truth, donʼt yield to an­ger, and give, if asked, e­ven if itʼs on­ly a lit­tle. By these three steps you will go near the gods.

225 The sages who harm no one, and al­ways con­trol their body, go to the un­change­a­ble state, where they suf­fer no more. 226 Those who are al­ways vig­i­lant, study­ing day and night, in­tent on sal­va­tion, their passions fade a­way.

227 This is an old say­ing, not just of to­day: “They blame him who is si­lent, they blame him who speaks much, they blame him who speaks lit­tle.” There is none on earth who escapes blame. 228 There nev­er was, there nev­er will be, nor is there now, a man who is al­ways blamed or al­ways praised.

229 If the knowl­edge­a­ble praise him, hav­ing ob­served him day af­ter day to be with­out blem­ish, wise, and rich in knowl­edge and vir­tue, 230 who can blame him? E­ven the gods praise him. E­ven the Cre­a­tor praises him.

231 With your body, tongue, and mind: be­ware of an­ger, be re­strained, leave its sins, and with it prac­tise vir­tue. 234 The wise who con­trol their body, their tongue, and their mind, are well con­trolled in­deed.

Impurity

235 You are now like a withered leaf, the messengers of death stand near­by. You stand at the door of de­par­ture, yet have no pro­vi­sion for your jour­ney. 237 Your life has come to an end, you are near death, there is no rest­ing place for you on the road, yet you have no pro­vi­sion for your jour­ney. 238 Make an is­land for your­self, work hard, be wise. When your impurities are blown a­way, and you are free from guilt, you wonʼt en­ter again in­to birth and de­cay.

239 Let a wise man re­move his own impurities, as a smith removes impurities from sil­ver one by one, lit­tle by lit­tle, and mo­ment by mo­ment. 240 Just as rust destroys the i­ron from which it springs, so do a trans­gres­sorʼs deeds lead him to an evil des­ti­na­tion.

241 The im­pu­ri­ty of prayers is not re­cit­ing them. The im­pu­ri­ty of hous­es is not repairing them. The im­pu­ri­ty of beau­ty is sloth. The im­pu­ri­ty of a watch­man is mind­less­ness. 242 Sex­u­al mis­con­duct is the im­pu­ri­ty of wom­an, stin­gi­ness the im­pu­ri­ty of a do­nor. All evil ways are impurities, both in this world and in the next. 243 But there is an im­pu­ri­ty worse than all others: ig­no­rance. Throw off that im­pu­ri­ty to be­come pure.

246 He who destroys life, speaks lies, takes what is­nʼt giv­en, goes to an­oth­er manʼs wife, 247 and gives him­self to in­tox­i­cat­ing liq­uor, he digs up his own root here in this world. 248 Know this, good man, that evil is hard to con­trol. Donʼt let greed and vi­ce bring you to prolonged grief.

249 Peo­ple give ac­cord­ing to their faith or con­vic­tion. If a man worries about the food and drink giv­en to others, he will find no rest by day or night. 250 He in whom that feel­ing is cut down, uprooted, and destroyed finds rest by day and night.

251 Thereʼs no fire like pas­sion, no grip like ha­tred, no snare like de­lu­sion, no riv­er like crav­ing.

252 Itʼs easy to see the faults of others, but dif­fi­cult to see oneʼs own. A man winnows the faults of others like chaff, but hides his own like a cheat hides an un­lucky throw of the dice. 253 If a man fo­cus­es on the errors of others, and is al­ways in­clined to find fault, his own faults will grow, and he is far from destroying them.

254 The world delights in van­i­ty, but the awakened are free from it.

The Just

256 A man does­nʼt be­come just by pass­ing ar­bi­trary judge­ment. No, heʼs called just who weighs both right and wrong, 257 who judges im­par­tial­ly and with­out hur­ry, in line with law, guarding the law, guard­ed by the law, and who is in­tel­li­gent.

258 A man is­nʼt wise just be­cause he talks a lot. Heʼs called wise who is pa­tient and free from hos­til­i­ty and fear.

259 A man does­nʼt up­hold the law just be­cause he talks a lot. He who has learn­ed on­ly a lit­tle of the law, yet com­pre­hends it and nev­er neglects it, he upholds the law.

260 A man is­nʼt an el­der just be­cause his hair is grey. He may be ad­vanced in years, but is called “one grown old in vain.” 261 He in whom there is truth, vir­tue, love, re­straint, self con­trol, who is free from im­pu­ri­ty, and is wise, he is called an el­der.

262 El­o­quence or phys­i­cal beau­ty donʼt make an en­vi­ous, greedy, and dis­hon­est man re­spect­a­ble. 263 Heʼs called re­spect­a­ble when all these are cut down, uprooted, and destroyed, when heʼs free from ha­tred, and is wise.

264 An un­dis­ci­plined man who speaks lies does­nʼt be­come a monk just by shav­ing his head. How can he be a monk who is held cap­tive by de­sire and greed? 265 He who quiets evil, both small and large, is called a monk, be­cause he has over­come all evil.

266 A man is­nʼt a monk just be­cause he asks for alms. He who adopts the whole law is a monk. 267 He who is above both good and evil, who is chaste, and who goes through the world with un­der­stand­ing, he in­deed is called a monk.

268 A fool­ish and ig­no­rant man does­nʼt be­come a sage just by si­lence. But the wise, as if hold­ing the scales, chooses good and avoids evil. 269 For this rea­son he is a sage. He who weighs both sides of this world is called a sage.

270 A man does­nʼt be­come no­ble by harming liv­ing crea­tures. Heʼs called no­ble for harming no liv­ing thing.

271 Not by rules and practices, not by much learn­ing, not by great con­cen­tra­tion, not by life in se­clu­sion, 272 not by think­ing, “I en­joy the hap­pi­ness of re­nun­ci­a­tion which no world­ling can know”, should the monk be con­fi­dent with­out at­tain­ing the ex­tinc­tion of desires.

The Path

273 Of paths, the Eight­fold is best. Of truths, the Four No­ble are best. Of vir­tues, de­tach­ment is best. Of men, he who has eyes to see is best.

274 This is the on­ly path to pu­ri­fy vi­sion, there is no oth­er. Fol­low this path and it will be­wil­der the temp­ter. 275 Fol­low­ing this path will end pain. Once I un­der­stood how to re­move thorns in the flesh, I preached this path.

276 You your­self must make an ef­fort. Buddhas on­ly show the way. The thought­ful who fol­low the path are freed from the tempterʼs bonds.

277 “All cre­at­ed things are tem­po­rary.” He who sees and knows this turns a­way from pain. This is the path to pu­ri­ty.

278 “All cre­at­ed things are pain­ful.” He who sees and knows this turns a­way from pain. This is the path to pu­ri­ty.

280 He who does­nʼt ex­ert him­self when itʼs time, who, though young and strong, is full of sloth, whose will and mind are weak, that la­zy and i­dle man will nev­er find the path to knowl­edge.

281 Let a man watch his speech, be well re­strained in mind, and nev­er com­mit wrong with his body. If a man purifies these three cours­es of ac­tion, he will achieve the path taught by the wise.

282 Zeal brings knowl­edge. Lack of zeal loses knowl­edge. Know­ing these two paths of gain and loss, let a man con­duct him­self so that knowl­edge may grow.

283 Cut down the whole for­est of de­sire, not just one tree. Dan­ger co­mes from the for­est. Once you have cut down this for­est and its un­der­growth, you will be free.

284 As long as the smallest crav­ing of man for wom­an is not destroyed, his mind is in bond­age, as the suck­ing calf to its moth­er. 285 Cut out the love of self, like an au­tumn lo­tus with your hand. Cher­ish the road of peace, as shown by the awakened.

286 “I will live here dur­ing the rains, and over here in win­ter and sum­mer.” Thus thinks the fool, un­a­ware of ob­struc­tions.

287 Death carries off the man praised for his chil­dren and flocks, his mind dis­tract­ed, as a flood carries off a sleep­ing vil­lage.

288 For him whom death has seized, kinsmen are no pro­tec­tion. Nei­ther sons, a fa­ther, nor re­la­tions can give shel­ter. 289 Know­ing this, a wise and good man should quick­ly clear the path lead­ing to sal­va­tion.

Miscellaneous

290 If by leav­ing a small pleas­ure one sees a great pleas­ure, let a wise man leave the small pleas­ure and look to the great.

291 He who seeks pleas­ure for him­self by caus­ing pain to others is entangled by the bonds of ha­tred, and can­not be free from ha­tred.

292 Desires al­ways in­crease for un­ru­ly, heed­less peo­ple who ne­glect what should be done and do what should­nʼt be done. 293 But desires will come to an end for watch­ful, wise peo­ple who donʼt do what should­nʼt be done, who stead­fast­ly do what should be done, and whose whole watch­ful­ness is al­ways di­rect­ed to their body.

296 The dis­ci­ples of Gotama are wide a­wake and vig­i­lant, and their minds day and night are al­ways set on the Awakened, 297 on the law, 298 on the church, 299 and on their body.

300 The dis­ci­ples of Gotama are wide a­wake and vig­i­lant, and their minds day and night al­ways de­light in com­pas­sion, 301 and in med­i­ta­tion.

302 Itʼs hard to be a monk. Itʼs hard to en­joy that life. House­hold life is al­so hard and pain­ful. Itʼs pain­ful to dwell with unequals and the wan­der­ing monk is be­set with pain. There­fore let no man wan­der aim­less­ly and he will not be be­set with pain.

303 A faith­ful, vir­tu­ous, rep­u­ta­ble, and wealthy man is respected wher­ev­er he goes. 304 Like the Himalayas, good peo­ple shine from afar. Like ar­rows shot by night, bad peo­ple are un­seen e­ven when they are near.

305 He who sits a­lone, sleeps a­lone, walks a­lone, is dil­i­gent, and subdues him­self a­lone, will re­joice in the sol­i­tude of the for­est.

Hell

306 He goes to hell, the one who as­serts what did­nʼt hap­pen, and the one who did a thing but says, “I have­nʼt done it”. Theyʼre both evildoers, and are e­qual in the next world.

307 Many men who wear the saf­fron robe are ill-mannered and un­re­strained. Such evildoers by their evil deeds go to hell. 308 It would be bet­ter to swal­low an i­ron ball, red-hot and a­flame, than for an im­mor­al, un­re­strained man to eat the alms of the peo­ple.

309 A wreckless man who lies down with his neighborʼs wife gains four things: a bad rep­u­ta­tion, poor sleep, pun­ish­ment, and hell. 310 There is bad rep­u­ta­tion, an evil des­ti­na­tion, the brief pleas­ure of the fright­ened man and wom­an, and the king imposes a heavy pun­ish­ment. There­fore, let no man lie down with his neighborʼs wife.

311 Just as a blade of grass, if wrong­ly han­dled, cuts the hand, so does as­cet­i­cism, if wrong­ly prac­tised, lead to hell.

312 An act performed care­less­ly, a bro­ken vow, and ques­tion­a­ble cel­i­ba­cy, none of these bring much re­ward. 313 If any­thing is to be done, then do it vig­or­ous­ly. A care­less pil­grim on­ly scatters the dust of his passions more wide­ly.

314 Itʼs bet­ter not to do an evil deed, for an evil deed torments a man af­ter­wards. Itʼs bet­ter to do a good deed, for hav­ing done it, one is not tormented. 315 Like a fron­tier fort with defences in­side and out, so let a man guard him­self. Donʼt let a mo­ment pass by, for they who al­low the right mo­ment to pass suf­fer pain when consigned to hell.

316 They who are a­shamed of what is not shame­ful, and are not a­shamed of what is shame­ful; 317 they who see dan­ger where there is none, and see no dan­ger where there is; 318 they who see wrong where there is none, and see no wrong where there is; such men, em­brac­ing false doctrines, go to an evil des­ti­na­tion.

319 They who see wrong as wrong, and see right as right, such men, em­brac­ing true doc­trine go to a good des­ti­na­tion.

The Elephant

320 As an el­e­phant in bat­tle endures an ar­row shot from a bow, so will I en­dure def­a­ma­tion. Many peo­ple lack vir­tue.

321 They on­ly lead a tamed el­e­phant in­to crowds. The king on­ly rides a tamed el­e­phant. The tamed man who endures def­a­ma­tion is the best a­mong men.

322 Trained mules, thor­ough­bred hors­es, and el­e­phants with large tusks are ex­cel­lent, but he who tames him­self is bet­ter still. 323 For with these an­i­mals no man reaches the un­trod­den coun­try where a tamed man goes by tam­ing him­self.

324 The el­e­phant called Dhan­a­pa­la­ka, deep in rut, is dif­fi­cult to hold. He does­nʼt eat a mor­sel in cap­tiv­i­ty, but longs for the el­e­phant grove.

325 When a man is in­ac­tive and glut­ton­ous, sleep­ing and roll­ing a­round in bed like an o­ver­fed hog, that fool is born again and again.

326 This mind used to wan­der about as it liked, wher­ev­er it wished, how­ev­er it pleased. Now I will hold it in check, as a rid­er with a hook controls an el­e­phant in rut.

327 De­light in mind­ful­ness. Watch over your mind. Lift your­self out of the evil way, as an el­e­phant lifts it­self out of the mud.

328 If you find a wise, pru­dent, and vir­tu­ous friend, then, over­com­ing all dangers, walk with him joy­ful­ly and mind­ful­ly. 329 If you find no friend who is wise, pru­dent, and vir­tu­ous, then walk a­lone like a king leav­ing be­hind his king­dom, like an el­e­phant in the for­est.

330 Itʼs bet­ter to live a­lone. Thereʼs no com­pan­ion­ship with a fool. Live a­lone, do no evil, and be con­tent, like an el­e­phant in the for­est.

331 These are good: friends when the need arises, con­tent­ment with what you have, mer­it in the hour of death, giv­ing up all grief, 332 serv­ing your moth­er, serv­ing your fa­ther, serv­ing monks, serv­ing ho­ly men, 333 vir­tue last­ing in­to old age, firm­ly root­ed faith, at­tain­ing dis­cern­ment, avoiding evil.

Craving

334 The crav­ing of a heed­less man grows like a creep­ing vine. He runs from life to life, like a mon­key seek­ing fruit in the for­est.

335 He who is over­come by this vile and cling­ing crav­ing, his suf­fer­ing increases like grass af­ter rain. 336 He who overcomes this vile crav­ing, so dif­fi­cult to con­quer, suf­fer­ing falls off him like wa­ter drops from a lo­tus leaf.

337 To all as­sem­bled here I say, “Good luck. Dig up the root of crav­ing like one seek­ing the sweet scented root of birana grass. Let not the temp­ter crush you again and again as the stream crushes a reed.” 338 A tree will grow again, e­ven if cut down, as long as its root is safe and firm. Thus, un­less la­tent crav­ing is destroyed, suf­fer­ing will re­turn again and again.

339 The thir­ty six streams of crav­ing flow to­wards pleas­ure. The mis­guid­ed man, in whom they flow strongly, is car­ried a­way. 340 The streams flow eve­ry­where. The creep­ing vines of crav­ing grow eve­ry­where. If you see the vine spring up, cut its root with knowl­edge.

342 Driv­en by crav­ing, men run about like a snared rab­bit. Held by fetters and bonds, they suf­fer again and again for a long time. 343 So a monk should drive out crav­ing, and strive to be with­out pas­sion.

345 The wise donʼt say that a fet­ter made of i­ron, wood, or hemp is strong. Far stronger is a long­ing for jewels and ornaments, chil­dren and wives. 346 The wise say that a strong fet­ter drags one down, though seem­ing loose, itʼs dif­fi­cult to re­move. Af­ter hav­ing cut it, the wise are free from cares, and leave the world, desires, and pleasures be­hind.

348 Give up the past, the fu­ture, and the pres­ent to cross to the oth­er shore of ex­ist­ence. If your mind is com­plete­ly free, you wonʼt en­ter in­to birth and de­cay again.

349 If a man is tossed about by doubts, full of pas­sion, and fo­cused on pleas­ure, his crav­ing grows more and more. He makes his fetters strong in­deed. 350 If a man delights in quieting doubts, is al­ways mind­ful, and meditates on the impurities, he will end crav­ing and cut the fet­ter of the temp­ter.

351 He who has reached the goal is with­out fear, is with­out crav­ing, is with­out blem­ish, and has re­moved all the thorns of life: this will be his last body.

354 The gift of the law exceeds all gifts. The taste of the law exceeds all tastes. De­light in the law exceeds all delights. The ex­tinc­tion of crav­ing overcomes all suf­fer­ing.

355 Rich­es de­stroy the fool­ish, but not those who seek the be­yond. The fool, by crav­ing for rich­es, destroys him­self and others.

356 Weeds spoil a field. Pas­sion, ha­tred, de­lu­sion, or de­sire spoil a man. 359 There­fore, a gift giv­en to those with­out pas­sion, ha­tred, de­lu­sion, or de­sire yields great fruit.

The Monk

360 Good is re­straint over the eye, over the ear, over the nose, and over the tongue. 361 Good is re­straint in the body, in speech, in mind, in all things. A monk, re­strained in all things, is freed from all suf­fer­ing.

362 He who controls his hands, feet, and speech; who is well con­trolled, delights in the in­ward, is col­lect­ed, sol­i­tary and con­tent, him they call a monk.

363 The monk who controls his tongue, speaks mod­er­ate­ly and calm­ly, and teaches the law and its mean­ing, his speech is sweet.

364 The monk who abides in the law, delights in the law, meditates on the law, and keeps the law in mind, he will nev­er fall a­way from the true law.

365 Let him not de­spise what he has re­ceived, nor en­vy others. A monk who envies others does­nʼt ob­tain con­cen­tra­tion.

366 If a monk lives pure­ly, is dil­i­gent, and does­nʼt de­spise what he has re­ceived, though he receives lit­tle, then e­ven the gods will praise him. 368 The monk who abides in kind­ness, and is de­vot­ed to the teachings of Bud­dha, will at­tain peace, hap­pi­ness, and ces­sa­tion of nat­u­ral desires.

369 Monk, bail out this boat. Once bailed, it will sail light­ly. Hav­ing cut out pas­sion and ha­tred, you will reach sal­va­tion.

371 Med­i­tate monk. Be mind­ful. Donʼt di­rect your mind to sen­su­al pleas­ure. Heed­less, donʼt swal­low the flam­ing i­ron ball lest you cry out when burn­ing, “This is suf­fer­ing.”

372 There is no med­i­ta­tion with­out in­sight. There is no in­sight with­out med­i­ta­tion. He who has in­sight and med­i­ta­tion is near sal­va­tion.

373 A monk who has entered his emp­ty house, whose mind is tran­quil, and who sees the law clear­ly, feels a de­light more than hu­man.

375 This is the be­gin­ning for a wise monk: guarding the sen­ses, con­tent­ment, re­straint un­der the law. 376 He should have friends who are no­ble, en­er­get­ic, and pure. He should be friend­ly, and skilled in con­duct. Then, hav­ing much joy, he will put an end to suf­fer­ing.

377 Shed pas­sion and ha­tred, as the jas­mine plant sheds its withered flowers. 378 That monk is called qui­et whose body and speech and mind are calm, who is col­lect­ed, and who has purged the baits of the world.

379 Re­prove your­self and ex­am­ine your­self by your­self. By be­ing vig­i­lant and at­ten­tive you will live hap­pi­ly. 380 You are your own mas­ter and ref­uge. There­fore, watch over your­self as a mer­chant watches over a good horse.

381 The monk who is full of joy, and who has faith in the teachings of Bud­dha will reach the qui­et place, ces­sa­tion of nat­u­ral desires, and hap­pi­ness. 382 E­ven a young monk who applies him­self to the teachings of Bud­dha brightens this world, like the moon set free from clouds.

The Holy Man

386 He who is mind­ful, blame­less, settled, du­ti­ful, with­out passions, and who has at­tained the highest goal, him I call a ho­ly man.

387 The sun shines by day, the moon shines by night, the war­ri­or shines in ar­mor, the ho­ly man shines in med­i­ta­tion.

388 A man is called ho­ly for dis­card­ing evil, con­tem­pla­tive for walk­ing qui­et­ly, a pil­grim for leav­ing his own impurities.

389 No one should at­tack a ho­ly man, but no ho­ly man, if at­tacked, should give in to his an­ger. Shame on him who at­tacks a ho­ly man, but more shame to him who gives in to his an­ger.

390 Noth­ing is bet­ter for a ho­ly man than to hold his mind back from the pleasures of life. When all de­sire to in­jure has vanished, pain ceases.

391 I call him a ho­ly man who does­nʼt of­fend in body, word, or mind, and is re­strained on these three points.

392 Re­vere that teach­er who has taught you the law as taught by the Bud­dha, just as a ho­ly many reveres the sac­ri­fi­cial fire.

393 A man does­nʼt be­come ho­ly by his mat­ted hair, by his fam­i­ly, or by birth. He in whom there is truth and right­eous­ness, he is pure, he is a ho­ly man. 394 What use is mat­ted hair, O fool? What use is your coat of goat skins? The tan­gle is with­in you, but you comb the out­side.

397 I call him a ho­ly man who has cut eve­ry fet­ter, is fear­less, in­de­pend­ent, and un­shack­led.

399 I call him a ho­ly man who, with­out an­ger, endures in­sult, im­pris­on­ment, and beat­ing, who has pa­tience like the strength of an ar­my.

400 I call him a ho­ly man who is free from an­ger, du­ti­ful, vir­tu­ous, with­out crav­ing, sub­dued, and who has re­ceived his last body.

401 I call him a ho­ly man who does­nʼt cling to pleasures; like wa­ter on a lo­tus leaf or a mus­tard seed on the tip of a nee­dle. 402 I call him a ho­ly man who, e­ven here, discerns the end of his suf­fer­ing, has put down his bur­den, and is un­shack­led.

403 I call him a ho­ly man who is wise, has deep un­der­stand­ing, discerns the right and wrong path, and has reached the ul­ti­mate goal.

404 I call him a ho­ly man who keeps a­loof from both laymen and as­cet­ic, who has no per­ma­nent home, and few desires.

405 I call him a ho­ly man who renounces vi­o­lence to­wards all beings, wheth­er weak or strong, and nei­ther kills nor causes others to kill.

407 I call him a ho­ly man from whom pas­sion and ha­tred, pride and en­vy have dropped like a mus­tard seed from the tip of a nee­dle.

408 I call him a ho­ly man who speaks true and in­struc­tive words, free from harsh­ness, so that he offends no one. 409 I call him a ho­ly man who on­ly takes what is giv­en to him, be it long or short, small or large, good or bad.

412 I call him a ho­ly man who, in this world, is above at­tach­ment to mer­it and evil, is with­out grief, stain­less, and pure.

416 I call him a ho­ly man who, leav­ing all crav­ing, travels with­out a home, and in whom all crav­ing is ex­tinct.

417 I call him a ho­ly man who, af­ter leav­ing all at­tach­ment to men, has ris­en above all at­tach­ment to the gods, and is free from eve­ry at­tach­ment.

421 I call him a ho­ly man who does­nʼt cling to past, pres­ent, or fu­ture, who has noth­ing, who clings to noth­ing.

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