Those of old who were adept in the Way were subtly profound and mysteriously perceptive, So deep they could not be recognized. Now, Because they could not be recognized, One can describe their appearance only with effort: hesitant, as though crossing a stream in winter; cautious, as though fearful of their neighbors all around; solemn, as though guests in someone else’s house; shrinking, as ice when it melts; plain, as an unhewn log; muddled, as turbid waters; expansive, as a broad valley. If turbid waters are stilled, they will gradually become clear; If something inert is set in motion, it will gradually come to life. Those who preserved this Way did not wish to be full. Now, Simply because they did not wish to be full, they could be threadbare and incomplete.