Gray hairs are signs of wisdom if you hold your tongue, speak and they are but hairs, as in the young.

Poems On Time The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough. Time is a wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth. Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf.

It is no easy task to lead men. But it is easy enough to drive them.

The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end.

False hope is clung to with all one's might and main, till a day comes when it has sucked the heart dry and it forcibly breaks through its bonds and departs. After that comes the misery of awakening, and then once again the longing to get back into the maze of the same mistakes.

The world speaks to me in colors, my soul answers in music.

To be constantly changing one's plans isn't decision at all-it's indecision.