Bhartrihari

Books by Bhartrihari

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For a moment man is a boy, for a moment a lovesick youth, for a moment bereft of wealth, for a moment in the height of prosperity; then at life's end with limbs worn out by old age and wrinkles adorning his face, like an actor he retires behind the curtain of death.
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There is no medicine to cure a fool!
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Knowledge is wonderful and truth serene But man in their service bleeds.
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Remembered she will bring remorse, Seen she makes the mind unclear, Touched she nearly drives one mad, Why call such a creature dear?
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Let us keep a firm grip upon our money, for without it the whole assembly of virtues are but as blades of grass.
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The pearl on my beloved's neck, Afflicted sore the oyster!
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