“The potter’s wheel, once set in motion, keeps spinning and spinning, and only gradually slackens and comes to a halt; and likewise, in Siddhartha’s soul, the wheel of asceticism, the wheel of thinking, the wheel of discrimination had kept turning and turning, was still turning, but was now sluggish and hesitant and on the verge of halting. Slowly, the way moisture creeps into the dying tree stump, slowly filling it and rotting it, worldliness and slothfulness had crept into Siddhartha’s soul; slowly they filled his soul, made it heavy, made it weary, lulled it to sleep.”

Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha (Page 68)