One can never decide whose property the body actually is. Does it belong to one’s parents, who have given birth to it, to one’s wife, who gives it pleasure, or to one’s employer, who orders the body around? Is it the property of the funeral fire or of the dogs and jackals who may ultimately devour it? Is it the property of the indwelling soul, who partakes in its happiness and distress, or does the body belong to intimate friends who encourage and help it? Although a man never definitely ascertains the proprietor of the body, he becomes most attached to it. The material body is a polluted material form heading toward a lowly destination, yet when a man stares at the face of a woman he thinks, “What a good-looking lady! What a charming nose she’s got, and see her beautiful smile!”