My Friend: Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love, my friend? The sky groans like one in despair. I have no sleep tonight. Ever and again I open my door and look out on the darkness, my friend! I can see nothing before me. I wonder where lies thy path! By what dim shore of the ink-black river, by what far edge of the frowning forest, through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading thy course to come to me, my friend?

Death is turning out the lamp because the dawn has appeared.

When the heat and motion of blind impulses and passions distract it on all sides, we can neither give nor receive anything truly. But when we find our centre in our soul by the power of self-restraint, by the force that harmonizes all warring element

Blessed is he whose fame does not outshine his truth.

A butterfly flitting from flower to flower ever remains mine, I lose the one that is netted by me.

The world has kissed my Soul with its pain, asking for its return in Songs.

Music fills the infinite between two souls. This has been muffled by the mist of our daily habits.