Tukaram, Poem 3470

You cannot make a bow of a pestle, or extract juice from a stone by squeezing it. A barren woman will never yield milk, nor a flint grow soft if you boil it. The mirage will never fertilize the nine continents; you cannot force a mountain to touch the sky. The perishable body will never become Bramha. If you try to bring such things about, says Tuka, you will be wasting your pains.