Sep 042008
 

Last updated on November 20th, 2015

‘Though you may set out at dawn on the journey of life with pride in the beauty of your rosy cheeks, by evening you will be no more than a pile of white bones rotting on the moor.’ Though you may move among the most exalted company of court nobles, your hair done up elegantly like clouds and your sleeves fluttering like eddies of snow, such pleasures, when you stop to consider them, are no more than a dream within a dream. You must come to rest at last under the carpet of weeds at the foot of the hill, and all your jewelled daises and brocade hangings will mean nothing to you on the road to the afterlife. – Nichiren Daishonin / Conversation between a Sage and an Unenlightened Man – The Writings of Nichiren Daishonin, Vol. 1, page 106

 Leave a Reply

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>

(required)

(required)

© 1977, Strangely Perfect.