Poetry is the impish attempt to paint the colour of the wind.

The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship.

What we seek we shall find, what we flee from flee from us.

The fire you kindle for your enemy often burns yourself more than him.

Thetorment of human frustration, whatever its immediate cause,is the knowledge that the self is in prison, its vital force and ‘mangledmind’ leaking away in lonely, wasteful self-conflict.

A good listener is not only popular everywhere, but after while he gets to know something.

A foolshows his annoyance at once, but a prudent man overlooks an insult.

We areall inclined to judge ourselves by our ideals; others, by their acts.

Theterm up has no meaning apart from the word down. The term fasthas no meaning apart from the term slow. In addition, such termshave no meaning even when used together, except when confined to a veryparticular situation... most of our language about the

Wherethe tongue slips, it speaks the truth.

Maturityis the capacity to endure uncertainty.

Peoplespend a lifetime searching for happiness; looking for peace. They chase idledreams, addictions, religions, even other people, hoping to fill theemptiness that plagues them. The irony is the only place they ever needed tosearch was within.