The earth paints a portrait of the sun at dawn with sunflowers in bloom. Unhappy with the portrait, she erases it and paints it again and again.
I do not love him because he is good, but because he is my child.
Where is heaven? you ask me, my child,-the sages tell us it is beyond the limits of birth and death, unswayed by the rhythm of day and night; it is not of the earth. But your poet knows that its eternal hunger is for time and space, and it strives evermore to be born in the fruitful dust. Heaven is fulfilled in your sweet body, my child, in your palpitating heart. The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers are a-tiptoe to kiss you. For heaven is born in you, in the arms of the mother- dust.
Dreams can never be made captive.
It is in the very heart of our activity that we search for our goal.
Boasting is only a masked shame; it does not truly believe in itself.
Be brave, right through, and leave for the unknown.
Let my love like sunlight surround you and yet give you illumined freedom.
You can't cross a sea by merely staring into the water.
By unrighteousness man prospers, gains what appears desirable, conquer enemies, but perishes a the root.
Age considers; youth ventures.
Life is given to us, we earn it by giving it.
There is a moral law in this world which has its application both to individuals and organized bodies of men. You cannot go on violating these laws in the name of your nation, yet enjoy their advantage as individuals. We may forget truth for our conv
O Beauty, find thyself in love, not in the flattery of thy mirror.
Beauty is truth's smile when she beholds her own face in a perfect mirror.
Life finds its wealth by the claims of the world, and its worth by the claims of love.
You are invited to the festival of this world and your life is blessed.
Please is frail like a dewdrop, while it laughs it dies. But sorrow is strong and abiding. Let sorrowful love wake in your eyes.
A butterfly flitting from flower to flower ever remains mine, I lose the one that is netted by me.
Religion, like poetry, is not a mere idea, it is expression. The self-expression of God is in the endless variety of creation; and our attitude toward the Infinite Being must also in its expression have a variety of individuality ceaseless and unendi.
Work, especially good work, becomes easy only when desire has learnt to discipline itself.
Man is immortal; therefore he must die endlessly. For life is a creative idea; it can only find itself in changing forms
By plucking her petals, you do not gather the beauty of the flower.
Let my thoughts come to you, when I am gone, like the afterglow of sunset at the margin of starry silence.
Let my doing nothing when I have nothing to do, become untroubled in its depth of peace, like the evening in the seashore when the water is silent.
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