Let there be a small state with few people, where military devices find no use; Let the people look solemnly upon death, and banish the thought of moving elsewhere. They may have carts and boats, but there is no reason to ride them; They may have armor and weapons, but they have no reason to display them. Let the people go back to tying knots to keep records. Let their food be savory, their clothes beautiful, their customs pleasurable, their dwellings secure. Though they may gaze across at a neighboring state, and hear the sounds of its dogs and chickens, The people will never travel back and forth, till they die of old age.