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

When I think of ages past That have floated down the stream Of life and love and death, I feel how free it makes us To pass away.

Repentance is a gift of God's grace.

Life itself is a strange mixture. We have to take it as it is, try to understand it, and then to better it.

The fish in the water is silent, the animals on the earth is noisy, the bird in the air is singing. But man has in him the silence of the sea, the noise of the earth and the music of the air.

Man is immortal; therefore he must die endlessly. For life is a creative idea; it can only find itself in changing forms

Perhaps the crescent moon smiles in doubt at being told that it is a fragment awaiting perfection.