You have your ideology and I have mine.
The first thought of God was an angel. The first word of God was a man.
Zeal is a volcano, the peak of which the grass of indecisiveness does not grow.
Yet you shall not deplore having known blindness, nor regret having been deaf. For in that day you shall know the hidden purposes in all things. And you shall bless darkness as you would bless light.
When I planted my pain in the field of patience it bore fruit of happiness.
In truth you owe naught to any man. You owe to all men.
As the strings of a lute are apart though they quiver the same music.
Listen to the woman when she looks at you, not when she talks to you.
There is a space between man’s imagination and man’s attainment that may only be traversed by his longing.
When you were a wandering desire in the mist, I too was there, a wandering desire. Then we sought one another, and out of our eagerness dreams were born. And dreams were time limitless, and dreams were space without measure.
Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.
For Reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and Passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction.
He who is more mindful of one, loses the love and the faith of both.
Let us disperse from our aloofness and serve the weak who made us strong, and cleanse the country in which we live. Let us teach this miserable nation to smile and rejoice with heaven’s bounty and glory of life and freedom.
Words are timeless. You should utter them or write them with a knowledge of their timelessness.
I am the lover’s gift; I am the wedding wreath; I am the memory of a moment of happiness; I am the last gift of the living to the dead; I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.
If I extend an empty hand and in retrieving it and finding it still empty, I feel disappointment, that is foolishness; yet if I extend a hand which is full and yet find no one to receive it, then that is hopelessness.
It was but yesterday I thought myself a fragment quivering without rhythm in the sphere of life. Now I know that I am the sphere, and all life in rhythmic fragments moves within me.
Of the good in you I can speak, but not of the evil. For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst? Verily when good is hungry it seeks food even in dark caves, and when it thirsts it drinks even of dead waters.
When life does not find a singer to sing her heart she produces a philosopher to speak her mind.