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

When I stand before thee at the day's end, thou shalt see my scars and know that I had my wounds and also my healing.

Let not the hours pass by in the dark. Kindle the lamp of love with thy life.

The flower fades and dies; but he who wears the flower has not to mourn for it for ever.

The past is always with us, for nothing that once was time can ever depart.

Memory, the priestess, kills the present and offers its heart to the shrine of the dead past.

My eyes have seen much, but they are not weary. My ears have heard much, but they thirst for more.

The greed for fruit misses the flower.

It is in the very heart of our activity that we search for our goal.

Gray hairs are signs of wisdom if you hold your tongue, speak and they are but hairs, as in the young.

If you shed tears when you miss the sun, you also miss the stars.

God finds himself by creating.

We come nearest to the great when we are great in humility.

Love is not a mere impulse, it must contain truth, which is law.

We live in the world when we love it.

Who are you, a hundred years from today, reading my poetry with curiosity?

Leave out my name from the gift if it be a burden, but keep my song.

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

The mountain remains unmoved at its seeming defeat by the mist.