A certain recluse, I know not who, once said that no bonds attached him to this life, and the only thing he would regret leaving was the sky |
Blossoms are scattered by the wind and the wind cares nothing, but the blossoms of the heart no wind can touch. |
Leave undone whatever you hesitate to do |
Love. Its roots are deep. Its source unknowable. |
The truth is at the beginning of anything and its end are alike touching. |
To sit alone in the lamplight with a book spread out before you, and hold intimate converse with men of unseen generations - such is a pleasure beyond compare. |