Chapter 54அதிகாரம் 54 சிறப்பு Excellence

Once one string is known to ring true, all the strings that do not fit feel shame.

Though ninety meshes are tied, it is the one left loose, that one alone, that brings the net down.

The foundation stone is buried in the earth, not in sight; the eye that looks at the palace does not see what the palace stands on.

When a string on a tuned lute is ruined, its music aches more than the music of a lute that was never tuned.

As the sickle sharpens its own edge upon the stone, the stone wears itself away unseen.

A sickle is sharpened by grinding it against a whetstone.

A joined clay pot may brim with beauty; the water knows the hole.

The sculptor called the unshaped stone a figure; it will never be finished.

Calling unfinished work done closes off the work it still needs.

Is it vanity, this great longing to leave no fault in the work? No: it is the art’s own conscience.

One man mixes the colour and wins the praise; many have mixed their tears into the colour.

Even when the wage in the hand is gone, whoever works to the full has his true wage within: the work.