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

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

I thought that my voyage had come to its end at the last limit of my power, that the path before me was closed, that provisions were exhausted, and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity, but I find that thy will knows no end in me, and when old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart, and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders.

Death's stamp gives value to the coin of life; making it possible to buy with life what is truly precious.

Night's darkness is a bag that bursts with the gold of the dawn.

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

Our self (Soul), as a form of God's joy, is deathless. For his joy is amritham, eternal bliss. We know that the life of a Soul, which is finite in its expression and infinite in its principle, must go through the portals of death in its journey to realize the infinite.