Part 1

The Tao cannot be named or trodden, yet originates heaven and earth.

Recognition of beauty creates the concept of ugliness; opposites define each other.

The sage manages affairs without action and without claiming ownership of results.

Not valuing superior ability or rare goods keeps people from rivalry and theft.

The Tao is like an empty vessel, deep and unfathomable as the ancestor of all.

Heaven, earth, and sages act without benevolent intention, treating all impartially.

The valley spirit, or female mystery, never dies and is the root of heaven and earth.

Heaven and earth endure because they do not live for themselves, a model for the sage.

Water's excellence lies in benefiting all things and occupying the low place.

Better to leave a vessel unfilled; withdraw when work is done and fame arrives.

The Tao produces and nourishes all things without claiming ownership or control.

The utility of wheels, vessels, and rooms depends on their empty space.

Sensory excess deprives faculties; the sage seeks to satisfy basic needs, not insatiable desires.

Favour and disgrace both bring fear; great calamity comes from having a body.

The Tao cannot be seen, heard, or grasped; it is the formless form and fleeting indeterminable.

Skilful masters of old were subtle, deep, and beyond ordinary knowledge.

All things grow and return to their root in stillness, fulfilling their appointed end.

In highest antiquity, people did not know their rulers; later they loved, feared, or despised them.

When the Great Tao faded, benevolence and righteousness arose, along with hypocrisy and disorder.

Renouncing wisdom, benevolence, and artifice would restore natural order among the people.

Renouncing learning eliminates troubles; the speaker seems listless while others appear satisfied.

All active force comes from Tao, which is elusive yet contains all essences and truth.

Humility leads to completeness; the sage shines by not displaying himself.

Silence marks natural spontaneity; even heaven and earth cannot sustain violent actions long.

Self-display and vaunting do not lead to lasting merit; such conditions are disliked.

The Tao existed before heaven and earth, formless and unchanging, the mother of all.

Gravity is the root of lightness; a wise prince does not act lightly or lose his throne.

The skilful leave no traces; the sage saves all and hides the light of his procedure.

Knowing strength yet maintaining weakness and humility leads to constant excellence.

The kingdom cannot be won by active doing; such attempts destroy it.

Assist a lord in harmony with the Tao, not by force; armies bring thorns and bad years.

Arms are instruments of evil; the superior man uses them only from necessity, never delighting in slaughter.

The unchanging Tao has no name; in simplicity, the world submits spontaneously.

Knowing oneself is intelligence; overcoming oneself is might; satisfaction brings richness and longevity.

The Great Tao is found everywhere; all things depend on it, yet it claims nothing.

The whole world repairs to him who holds the Great Image of the invisible Tao.

Before taking, first give; before weakening, first strengthen—this is hiding the light.

The Tao in its regular course does nothing, yet nothing remains undone.