If an action does not arise from stillness, the actor will repeat himself.
Love has no properties, nothing to validate a story, swear allegiance to or believe in. The Tibetan Book of the Dead describes it as “the luminous splendour of the colourless light of Emptiness.
In light of the first of the Four Noble Truths (Life is suffering), shouldn’t birth be swaddled in sorrow and death elicit a sober joy?
Death is the opposite of birth, not Life. Life has no opposite.
Love, ultimately, can only be talked about in terms of what it isn’t.
When his son died, Emerson looked hard at grief. He later recalled it as a shallow emotion, depthless and unreal. No stoic lives far from the fact that we are born to die.