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Birth is not the beginning, Death is not the end.
Zhuangzi
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Zhuangzi
Philosopher
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Peking
Zhuang Zi
Chuang Tzŭ
Chuang Tzu
Chuangtzŭ
Chuangtzu
Zhuang Zhou
Chuang Chou
Birth
Dying
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Death
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More quotes by Zhuangzi
Heaven does without doing through its purity, Earth does without doing through its calmness.
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You cannot speak of ocean to a well-frog, the creature of a narrower sphere. You cannot speak of ice to a summer insect, the creature of a season.
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Yet the stupid believe they are awake, busily and brightly assuming they understand things, calling this man ruler, that one herdsman – how dense! Confucius and you are both dreaming! And when I say you are dreaming, I am dreaming, too. Words like these will be labeled the Supreme Swindle.
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Understanding that rests in what it does not understand is the finest.
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When there is no more separation between 'this' and 'that,' it is called the still-point of the Tao. At the still point in the center of the circle one can see the infinite in all things.
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Forget the years, forget distinctions. Leap into the boundless and make it your home!
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Once Zhuangzi dreamt he was a butterfly...
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The true man breathes with his heels.
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Human life is limited, but knowledge is limitless. To drive the limited in pursuit of the limitless is fatal and to presume that one really knows is fatal indeed!
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Horses have hoofs to carry them over frost and snow hair, to protect them from wind and cold. They eat grass and drink water, and fling up their heels.... Such is the real nature of horses.
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To have a human form is a joyful thing.
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He who knows he is a fool is not the biggest fool He who knows he is confused is not in the worst confusion.
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The living all find death unpleasant men mourn over it. And yet, what is death, but the unbending of the bow and its return to its case?
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Why don’t you try wandering with me to the Palace of Not-Even-Anything
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The space under the sky is occupied by all things in their unity.
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The knowledge of the ancients reached the highest point-the time before anything existed. This is the highest point. It is exhaustive. There is no adding to it.
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Either in conflict with others or in harmony with them, we go through life like a runaway horse, unable to stop.
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Who knows when the end is reached? Death may be the beginning of life. How do I know that love of life is not a delusion after all? How do I know that he who dreads to die is as a child who has lost the way and cannot find his way home? How do I know that the dead repent of having previously clung to life?
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The man who has some respect for his person keeps his carcass out of sight, hides himself as perfectly as he can.
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Where is that man who has forgotten words that I may have a word with him?
Zhuangzi