Seeing something glittering in the gutter, Nasrudin ran to pick it up. It was a metal mirror. Looking at it closely, he saw his face reflected in it:
No wonder it was thrown away – nothing as ugly as this could possibly appeal to anyone. The fault is in me, for I picked it up without reasoning that it must be something unpleasant.
The Pleasantries of the Incredible Mulla Nasrudin (1968)
