But he, Siddhartha: Where did he belong? Whose life would he share? Whose tongue would he speak? From this moment when the world around him melted away and left him as solitary as a star in the sky, from this moment of cold and despondency, Siddhartha emerged, more firmly Self than before, solidified. This, he felt, had been the final shiver of awakening, the final pangs of birth.
