At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come and press its face against mine. Breathe into me. Close the language-door, and open the love-window. The moon won’t use the door, only the window.
One is absolutely sickened, not by the crimes that the wicked have committed, but by the punishments that the good have inflicted; and a community is infinitely more brutalised by the habitual employment of punishment than it is by the occasional occurrence of crime.
Prana, the vital breath, is born of Self. Like a person and his shadow, the Self and Prana are inseparable. Prana enters the body at birth, but does not die with the body.
Life is like a book with three chapters. Two are already written by God - Birth and Death. The chapter in the middle is empty; fill it with your smile, love and faith.
