These paper boats of mine are meant to dance on the ripples of hours, and not reach any destination.

We sit inert, like dead specimens of some museum, while lessons are pelted at us from on high, like hailstones on flowers.

Someone spilled the ink on the canvas. Now boasts: "I painted the night".

Wrong is wrong only when you are at liberty to choose.

Man's freedom is never in being saved from troubles, but it is the freedom to take trouble for his own good, to make the trouble an element in his joy.

We live in the world when we love it.

The Taj Mahal rises above the banks of the river like a solitary tear suspended on the cheek of time.