A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, and man cannot live without love.
Is it sin, which makes the worm a chrysalis, and the chrysalis a butterfly, and the butterfly dust?
Whoever knows it also knows that in love there is no More and no Less; but that he who loves can only love with the whole heart, and with the whole soul; with all his strength and with all his will.
That is the returning to God which in reality is never concluded on earth but yet leaves behind in the soul a divine home sickness, which never again ceases.
Of these years nought remains in memory but the sad feeling that we have advanced and only grown older.
I believe I can even yet remember when I saw the stars for the first time.
Would not the child’s heart break in despair when the first cold storm of the world sweeps over it, if the warm sunlight of love from the eyes of mother and father did not shine upon him like the soft reflection of divine light and love?
I spend my happiest hours in reading Vedantic books. They are to me like the light of the morning, like the pure air of the mountains – so simple, so true, if once understood.
Every life has its years in which one progresses as on a tedious and dusty street of poplars, without caring to know where he is.
How mankind defers from day to day the best it can do, and the most beautiful things it can enjoy, without thinking that every day may be the last one, and that lost time is lost eternity!