Childhood has its secrets and its mysteries; but who can tell or who can explain them!

Not far from our house, and opposite the old church with the golden cross, stood a large building, even larger than the church, and having many towers.

That is the returning to God which in reality is never concluded on earth but yet leaves behind in the soul a divine home sickness, which never again ceases.

Every life has its years in which one progresses as on a tedious and dusty street of poplars, without caring to know where he is.

The morning hour has gold at the mouth.

I spend my happiest hours in reading Vedantic books. They are to me like the light of the morning, like the pure air of the mountains - so simple, so true, if once understood.

And then when all around grows dark, when we feel utterly alone, when all men right and left pass us by and know us not, a forgotten feeling rises in the breast.