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.

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!

While the river of life glides along smoothly, it remains the same river only the landscape on either bank seems to change.

The first pages of memory are like the old family Bible. The first leaves are wholly faded and somewhat soiled with handling. But, when we turn further, and come to the chapters where Adam and Eve were banished from Paradise, then, all begins to grow clear and legible.

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.

A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, and man cannot live without 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.

Of these years nought remains in memory but the sad feeling that we have advanced and only grown older.

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.