Let it not be death but completeness. Let love melt into memory and pain into songs. Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest. Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night. Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence. I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way.
Rabindranath TagoreLanguages are jealous sovereigns, and passports are rarely allowed for travellers to cross their strictly guarded borders.
Rabindranath TagoreLife's errors cry for the merciful beauty that can modulate their isolation into a harmony with the whole.
Rabindranath Tagore