A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, and man cannot live without love.
~ Max Muller
The spring of love becomes hidden and soon filled up.
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.
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.
While the river of life glides along smoothly, it remains the same river; only the landscape on either bank seems to change.
And then when all around grows dark, when we feel utterly alone, when all men right and left pass us by and know us not, a forgotten feeling rises in the breast.
