Writing Under an Autumn-Coloured Sky

To be is to be perceived. Like how a fallen tree makes a sound even when no one is around to hear it, the written word is felt even with no one else to read it.
All that one can do, another can do better. An existence in transience begets a transient existence.
The skyline was beautiful at night, but I preferred it at sunset. Was it you, or the autumn-coloured sky?
The goal of moral cultivation is the effortlessness of right action. If the right action is effortful, then it is a reason to practise harder. It is not a reason to give up.
Distraction is the anodyne to pain. Why is it that one suffers more with so much less?
A modest person conceals his pride. But a humble person understands the futility of conceit.
I watch a kinkan nestled in the palm of my hand, as a breeze of citrus wafts through the air. A lukewarm langour washes over me, telling me that I am safe.