It is the same life that emerges in joy through the dust of the earth into numberless waves of flower.

O Beauty, find thyself in love, not in the flattery of thy mirror.

All that is not given is lost.

Bees sip honey from flowers and hum their thanks when they leave. The gaudy butterfly is sure that the flowers owe thanks to him.

The soil in return for her service keeps the tree tied to her, the sky asks nothing and leaves it free.

Only those of tranquil minds, and none else, can attain abiding joy, by realizing within their souls the Being who manifests one essence in a multiplicity of forms.

Life, like a child, laughs, shaking its rattle of death as it runs.