Today I feel that I shall win through. I have come to the gateway of the simple; I am now content to see things as they are. I have gained freedom myself; I shall allow freedom to others. In my work will be my salvation.

Memory, the priestess, kills the present and offers its heart to the shrine of the dead past.

Praise shames me, for I secretly beg for it.

Somewhere in the arrangement of this world there seems to be a great concern about giving us delight, which shows that, in the universe, over and above the meaning of matter and forces, there is a message conveyed through the magic touch of personality. ... Is it merely because the rose is round and pink that it gives me more satisfaction than the gold which could buy me the necessities of life, or any number of slaves. ... Somehow we feel that through a rose the language of love reached our hearts.

A lamp can only light another lamp when it continues to burn in its own flame.

The bird thinks it a favor to give the fish a lift in the air

At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.