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

Time is a wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth.

Life is perpetually creative because it contains in itself that surplus which ever overflows the boundaries of the immediate time and space, restlessly pursuing its adventure of expression in the varied forms of self-realization.

Death is turning out the lamp because the dawn has appeared.

Night's darkness is a bag that bursts with the gold of the dawn.

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

that which is eternal within the moment only becomes shallow if spread out in time.