Dreams can never be made captive.

You smiled and talked to me of nothing and I felt that for this I had been waiting long.

Boasting is only a masked shame; it does not truly believe in itself.

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.

Death belongs to life as birth does The walk is in the raising of the foot as in the laying of it down

In death the many become one; in life the one become many.

The meaning of our self is not to be found in its separateness from God and others, but in the ceaseless realization of yoga, of union; not on the side of the canvas where it is blank, but on the side where the picture is being painted.