Siddhartha had begun to breed discontent within himself. He had begun to feel that his father's love and his mother's love, and even the love of his friend Govinda, would not bring him enduring happiness, would not bring him contentment and satisfaction, would not be sufficient to his needs. He had begun to sense that his venerable father and his other teachers, the wise brahmins, had already shared with him the better part of their wisdom; they had already poured their all into his waiting vessel, and the vessel was not full, his mind was not satisfied, his soul was not at peace, his heart was not content.