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The birds looked upon me as nothing but a man, quite a trifling creature without wings-and they would have nothing to do with me. Were it not so I would build a small cabin for myself among their crowd of nests and pass my days counting the sea waves.
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O master poet, I have sat down at thy feet. Only let me make my life simple and straight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.
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My dearest life, I know you are not mine forever; but do love me even if it’s for this moment. After that I shall vanish into the forest where you cast me, I won’t ask anyone for anything again. Give me something that can last me till I die.
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We are hidden in ourselves, like a truth hidden in isolated facts. When we know that this One in us is One in all, then our truth is revealed.
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Life itself is a strange mixture. We have to take it as it is, try to understand it, and then to better it.
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In desperate hope I go and search for her in all the corners of my house. I find her not. My house is small and what once has gone from it can never be regained. But infinite is thy mansion, my lord, and seeking her I have come to thy door.
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Do not linger to gather flowers to keep them, but walk on, for flowers will keep themselves blooming all your way.
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If you allow your mind to carp at all and sundry, it will turn against itself: the majority of our sorrows are self-inflicted.
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Let my thoughts come to you, when I am gone, like the afterglow of sunset at the margin of starry silence.
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The world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover. It becomes small as one song, as one kiss of the eternal.
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when you came you cried and everybody smiled with joy; when you go smile and let the world cry for you.
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Where roads are made I lose my way.In the wide water, in the blue sky there is no line of a track.The pathway is hidden by the birds' wings, by the star-fires, by the flowers of the wayfaring seasons.And I ask my heart if its blood carries the wisdom of the unseen way.
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To the birds you gave songs, the birds gave you songs in return. You gave me only a voice, yet asked for more, thus I sing.
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Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight.
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I am ashamed of my emptiness," said the Word to the Work. "I know how poor I am when I see you," said the Work to the Word.
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Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep?
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We sit inert, like dead specimens of some museum, while lessons are pelted at us from on high, like hailstones on flowers.
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Other animals ran only when they had a reason, but the horse would run for no reason whatever, as if to run out of his own skin
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Overstraining is the enemy of accomplishment. Calm strength that arises from a deep and inexhaustible source is what brings success.
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And joy is everywhere; it is in the earth's green covering of grass; in the blue serenity of the sky.
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Religion, like poetry, is not a mere idea, it is expression. The self-expression of God is in the endless variety of creation; and our attitude toward the Infinite Being must also in its expression have a variety of individuality ceaseless and unendi.
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The song I came to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument. The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only there is the agony of wishing in my heart . . .
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The pious sectarian is proud because he is confident of his right of possession in God. The man of devotion is meek because he is conscious of God's right of love over his life and soul.
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True deliverance of man is the deliverance from Avidya i.e. ignorance. It is not in destroying anything that is positive and real, for that cannot be possible, but that which is negative, which obstructs our vision of truth.