With your hands carve out your own destiny.

Make of the Silence your to-do tasks, of the compassion your wealth and of the meditation your beggar's bowl.

O my heart! Love God as the chatrik loves the rain drops, Who even when fountains are full and the land green, Is not satisfied as long as it cannot get a drop of rain.

Those who have loved are those that have found God

Through shallow intellect, the mind becomes shallow, and one eats the fly, along with the sweets.

Be the wisdom your support. Be the compassion your guide and listen to the Divine Music that beats in every heart.

I am neither a child, a young man, nor an ancient; nor am I of any caste.