I have read in books that we are called 'caged birds'. I cannot speak for others, but I had so much in this cage of mine that there was not room for it in the universe- at least that is what I then felt.

The soil in return for her service keeps the tree tied to her, the sky asks nothing and leaves it free.

The movement of life has its rest in its own music.

Grant me that I may not be a coward, feeling your mercy in my success alone; but let me find the grasp of your hand in my failure.

In the mountain, stillness surges up to explore its own height In the lake, movement stands still to contemplate its own depth.

Compliments win friends, honesty loses them.

O master poet, I have sat down at thy feet. Only let me make my life simple and straight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.