“Ānanda, did I not prepare for this when I explained that we must be parted and separated from all we hold dear and beloved? How could it possibly be so that what is born, created, conditioned, and liable to wear out should not wear out? That is not possible. Suppose there was a large tree standing with heartwood, and the largest branch broke off. In the same way, in the great Saṅgha that stands with heartwood, Sāriputta has become fully quenched. How could it possibly be so that what is born, created, conditioned, and liable to wear out should not wear out? That is not possible. So Ānanda, live as your own island, your own refuge, with no other refuge. Let the teaching be your island and your refuge, with no other refuge.

And how does a mendicant do this? It’s when a mendicant meditates by observing an aspect of the body—keen, aware, and mindful, rid of covetousness and displeasure for the world. They meditate observing an aspect of feelings … mind … principles—keen, aware, and mindful, rid of covetousness and displeasure for the world. That’s how a mendicant lives with themselves as island and refuge, without other refuge; with the teachings as island and refuge, without other refuge. Whether now or after I have passed, any who shall live as their own island, their own refuge, with no other refuge; with the teaching as their island and their refuge, with no other refuge—those mendicants of mine who want to train shall be among the best of the best.”

Linked Discourses 47.14 2. At Nāḷandā At Ukkacelā