The smile that flickers on a baby’s lips when he sleeps- does anyone know where it was born? Yes, there is a rumor that a young pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud, and there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew-washed morning.

If you allow your mind to carp at all and sundry, it will turn against itself: the majority of our sorrows are self-inflicted.

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

The heart wants to go on; that is its dharma. For unless it moves, it dies.

By touching you may kill, by keeping away you may possess.

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

Languages are jealous sovereigns, and passports are rarely allowed for travellers to cross their strictly guarded borders.