What a frightful weapon is human thought! It is our defense and our safeguard, the most precious gift that God has made us. It is ours and it obeys us; we may launch it forth into space, but, once outside of our feeble brains, it is gone; we can no longer control it.
The life of a devotee is a crusade of which the heart is the Holy Land.
The return makes one love the farewell.
There is no worse sorrow than remembering happiness in the day of sorrow.
The heart that once has been your shrine for other loves is too divine
Know that there is often hidden in us a dormant poet, always young and alive.