I sit at my window gazing The world passes by, nods to me And is gone.

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

Stray birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away. And yellow leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall there with a sigh.

Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.

When you have once taken up a responsibility, you must see it through.

Let my thoughts come to you, when I am gone, like the afterglow of sunset at the margin of starry silence.

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.