There was nothing boiling in him, just a loud and clear exhale, a weight of peace wrapping around his heart.”

He turned now with a lover's thirst to images of tranquil skies, fresh meadows, cool brooks — an existence of soft and eternal peace.

With a secret smile, not unlike that of a healthy child,he walked along, peacefully, quietly. He wore his gown and walked along exactly like the other monks, but his face and his step, his peaceful downward glance, his peaceful downward-hanging hand, and every finger of his hand spoke of peace, spoke of completeness, sought nothing, imitated nothing, reflected a continuous quiet, an unfading light, an invulnerable peace.

— his indescribable little air of knowing nothing in the world but love.

His gentleness was uncompromising; because he would not compete for dominance, he was indomitable.

No cracking of the whip of words
disturbed his peace
in a space that sung.

He accepted what each moment brough him, and never troubled himself with matters that were outside his control.

And he was utterly untainted by emotion.

In the deeps of his ground he knows and feels nothing, in soul or body, but a singular radiance with sensible well-being and all pervading savour.

lucid and quiet his voice hovered above the listeners, like a light, like a starry sky.

He never preached or exhorted, but his life radiated purity and joy, he was a living sermon.

[S]he had a singular spaciousness of mind in which nothing little or mean could live.

No one argued with him, which was a pleasant novelty.

This is peace, this is the excellent, namely the calm of all the impulses, the casting out of all "basis", the extinction of craving, dispassion, stopping, Nirvana.