Consider this body! A painted puppet with jointed limbs, sometimes suffering and covered with ulcers, full of imaginings, never permanent, for ever changing.
This body is decaying! A nest of diseases, a heap of corruption, bound to destruction, to dissolution. All life ends in death.
Look at these grey-white dried bones, like dried empty gourds thrown away at the end of the summer. Who will feel joy in looking at them?
A house of bones is this body, bones covered with flesh and with blood. Pride and hypocrisy dwell in this house and also old age and death.
The glorious chariots of kings wear out, and the body wears out and grows old; but the virtue of the good never grows old.