What sunshine is to flowers, smiles are to humanity.
Mysterious haunts of echoes old and far, The voice divine of human loyalty.
The finest language is mostly made up of simple unimposing words.
But human experience is usually paradoxical, that means incongruous with the phrases of current talk or even current philosophy.
Love supreme defies all sophistry.
What quarrel, what harshness, what unbelief in each other can subsist in the presence of a great calamity, when all the artificial vesture of our life is gone, and we are all one with each other in primitive mortal needs?