Words are the thread on which we string our experiences.
Words are things; and a small drop of ink
Falling like dew upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I woke and saw that life was service. I acted and, behold, service was joy.
I have never started a poem yet whose end I knew. Writing a poem is discovering.
Vocations which we wanted to pursue but didn’t, bleed, like colors, on the whole of our existence.
Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.
There are two kinds of truth: the truth that lights the way and the truth that warms the heart. The first of these is science, and the second is art. Neither is independent of the other or more important than the other. Without art, science would be as useless as a pair of high forceps in the hands of a plumber. Without science, art would become a crude mess of folklore and emotional quackery. The truth of art keeps science from becoming inhuman, and the truth of science keeps art from becoming ridiculous.
The most important discoveries will provide answers to questions that we do not yet know how to ask and will concern objects we have not yet imagined.
Let us be grateful to people to make us happy. They are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.
Extraordinary things are always hiding in places people never think to look.