What is Art? It is the response of man's creative soul to the call of the Real.

The night kissed the fading day With a whisper: "I am death, your mother, From me you will get new birth."

to tyrannize for the country is to tyrannize over the country

God, the Great Giver, can open the whole universe to our gaze in the narrow space of a single land.

Oh, grant me my prayer, that I may never lose the touch of the one in the play of the many.

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.

A lamp can only light another lamp when it continues to burn in its own flame.