Those who have come to be, those who will be: All will go, leaving the body behind. The skillful person, realizing the loss of all, should live the holy life ardently.
Who knows if to live is to be dead, and to be dead, to live? And we really, it may be, are dead; in fact I once heard sages say that we are now dead, and the body is our tomb.
Wealth, a friend, a wife, and a kingdom may be regained; but this body when lost may never be acquired again.
All individual things pass away, strive on untiringly.
Life is swept along, next-to-nothing its span. For one swept to old age no shelters exist. Perceiving this danger in death, one should drop the world's bait and look for peace.
Of bones the city is made, Plastered with flesh and blood, Where decay and death are deposited, And pride, and ingratitude.
