If there is a way to free ourselves from suffering We must use every moment to find it. Only a fool wants to go on suffering. Isn't it sad to knowingly imbibe poison?

What is like a smelly fart, that, although invisible is obvious? One's own faults, that are precisely As obvious as the effort made to hide them.

Hundreds of stupid flies gather On a piece of rotten meat, Enjoying, they think, a delicious feast. This image fits with the song Of the myriads of foolish living beings Who seek happiness in superficial pleasures In countless ways they try, Yet I have never seen them satisfied.