A message came from my youth of vanished days, saying, 'I wait for you among the quivering of unborn May, where smiles ripen for tears and hours ache with songs unsung.' It says, 'Come to me across the worn-out track of age, through the gates of death. For dreams fade, hopes fail, the fathered fruits of the year decay, but I am the eternal truth, and you shall meet me again and again in your voyage of life from shore to shore.

If you shed tears when you miss the sun, you also miss the stars.

The past is always with us, for nothing that once was time can ever depart.

We manage to swallow flesh, only because we do not think of the cruel and sinful thing we do.

The same stream of life that runs through the world runs through my veins night and day.

Come oh come ye tea-thirsty restless ones -- the kettle boils, bubbles and sings, musically.

I have on my table a violin string. It is free to move in any direction I like. If I twist one end, it responds; it is free. But it is not free to sing. So I take it and fix it into my violin. I bind it and when it is bound, it is free for the first time to sing.