The newer people of this modern age are more eager to amass than to realize.

A dewdrop is a perfect integrity that has no filial memory of its parentage.

The flower fades and dies; but he who wears the flower has not to mourn for it for ever.

Our responsibility is no longer to acquire, but to BE.

Memory, the priestess, kills the present and offers its heart to the shrine of the dead past.

With begging and scrambling we find very little, but with being true to ourselves we find a great deal more.

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.