And Let The Winds Of The Heavens

Happiness Is A Myth We Seek, If Manifested Surely Irks; Like River Speeding To The Plain, On Its Arrival Slows And Murks. For Man Is Happy Only In His Aspiration To The Heights; When He Attains His Goal, He Cools And Longs For Other Distant Flights.

Pity The Nation Whose Statesman Is A Fox, Whose Philosopher Is A Juggler, And Whose Art Is The Art Of Patching And Mimicking. Pity The Nation That Welcomes Its New Ruler With Trumpetings, And Farewells Him With Hootings, Only To Welcome Another Ruler With Trumpetings Again. Pity The Nation Whose Sages Are Dumb With Years And Whose Strong Men Are Yet In The Cradle. Pity The Nation Divided Into Fragments, Each Fragment Deeming Itself A Nation.

And If You Would Know God, Be Not Therefore A Solver Of Riddles. Rather Look About You And You Shall See Him Playing With Your Children. And Look Into Space; You Shall See Him Walking In The Cloud, Outstretching His Arms In The Lightning And Descending In Rain. You Shall See Him Smiling In Flowers, Then Rising And Waving His Hands In Trees.

I Would Not Exchange The Laughter Of My Heart For The Fortunes Of The Multitudes.

He Who Is More Mindful Of One, Loses The Love And The Faith Of Both.