Life, like a child, laughs, shaking its rattle of death as it runs.

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.

Life's aspirations come in the guise of children.

The progress of our soul is like a perfect poem. It has an infinite idea which, once realised, makes all movements full of meaning and joy.

Work, especially good work, becomes easy only when desire has learnt to discipline itself.

The cure for all the illness of life is stored in the inner depth of life itself, the access to which becomes possible when we are alone. This solitude is a world in itself, full of wonders and resources unthought of. It is absurdly near; yet so unapproachably distant.

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