Echoes

I have endowed everyone with a temperament of his own, given everyone an idiom of his own; so that what is praise for him is blame for thee, what is honey for him is poison for thee, what is light for him is fire for thee, what is rose for him is thorn for thee, what is good for him is evil for thee, what is beautiful for him is ugly for thee. In the people of Hindustan the idiom of Hindustan is praiseworthy; in the people of Sind, the idiom of Sind is praiseworthy. I do not see the outward and the speech; I see the inward and the state [of feeling]. For the heart is the substance and speech an accident. So, the accident is subservient, the substance is the [real] object. The religion of love stands apart from all religions. For lovers the [only] religion and creed is God.

To different minds, the same world is a hell, and a heaven.

Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.

Nothing we see or hear is perfect. But right there in the imperfection is perfect reality.

The blue of the sky compensates for the brevity of life.

And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.

There are no facts, only interpretations.

What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have yet to be discovered.

The hidden harmony is better than the obvious.

They are ill discoverers that think there is no land, when they can see nothing but sea.

A very great deal more truth can become known than can be proven.

After the dazzle of day is gone, only the dark, dark night shows to my eyes the stars; after the plain of the surface and the breakers have gone, the depths of the ocean show beautiful forms.

My experience is what I agree to attend to.

"Tell me, gentle traveller, thou Who hast wandered far and wide, Seen the sweetest roses blow And the brightest rivers glide,— Say, of all thine eyes have seen, Which the fairest land has been.""Lady, shall I tell thee where Nature seems most blest and fair, Far above all climes beside?— ’Tis where those we love abide; And that little spot is best Which the loved one’s foot hath pressed."Though it be a fairy space, Wide and spreading is the place; Though ’twere but a barren mound, ’Twould become enchanted ground. With thee, yon sandy waste would seem The margin of Al Cawthar's stream; And thou canst make a dungeon’s gloom A bower where new-born roses bloom.

It is not truth that makes man great, but man that makes truth great.

The imagination of nature is far, far greater than the imagination of man.

I do not speak the minds of others except to speak my own mind better.

I wiped away the weeds and foam, And fetched my sea-born treasures home; But the poor, unsightly, noisome things Had left their beauty on the shore With the sun, and the sand, and the wild uproar.

Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.

The beauty of the world which is so soon to perish, has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder.

Nature is to be found in her entirety nowhere more than in her smallest creatures.

Clouds are not spheres, mountains are not cones, coastlines are not circles, and bark is not smooth, nor does lightning travel in a straight line.

To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men — that is genius.

The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.

Insist on yourself; never imitate.