The water vessel, taken as a vessel only, raises the question, "Why does it exist at all?" Through its fitness of construction, it offers the apology for its existence. But where it is a work of beauty it has no question to answer; it has nothing to do, but to be.

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

A butterfly flitting from flower to flower ever remains mine, I lose the one that is netted by me.

Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence? I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds. Open your doors and look abroad. From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of an hundred years before. In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning, sending its glad voice across a hundred years.

You smiled and talked to me of nothing and I felt that for this I had been waiting long.

We are hidden in ourselves, like a truth hidden in isolated facts. When we know that this One in us is One in all, then our truth is revealed.

Death belongs to life as birth does The walk is in the raising of the foot as in the laying of it down