From the solemn gloom of the temple children run out to sit in the dust, God watches them play and forgets the priest.
To be constantly changing one's plans isn't decision at all-it's indecision.
I do not love him because he is good, but because he is my child.
Dreams can never be made captive.
The burden of the self is lightened with I laugh at myself.
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.
Be brave, right through, and leave for the unknown.
Boasting is only a masked shame; it does not truly believe in itself.
Bravery ceases to be bravery at a certain point, and becomes mere foolhardiness.
For every child that is born, it brings with it the hope that God is not yet disappointed with man.
Let my love like sunlight surround you and yet give you illumined freedom.
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
Age considers; youth ventures.
You can't cross a sea by merely staring into the water.
Life is given to us, we earn it by giving it.
You are invited to the festival of this world and your life is blessed.
O Beauty, find thyself in love, not in the flattery of thy mirror.
Man is immortal; therefore he must die endlessly. For life is a creative idea; it can only find itself in changing forms
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.
Let my thoughts come to you, when I am gone, like the afterglow of sunset at the margin of starry silence.
Please is frail like a dewdrop, while it laughs it dies. But sorrow is strong and abiding. Let sorrowful love wake in your eyes.
Do not linger to gather flowers to keep them, but walk on, for flowers will keep themselves blooming all your way.
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.
By plucking her petals, you do not gather the beauty of the flower.
Life finds its wealth by the claims of the world, and its worth by the claims of love.
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