Har Shaamai Intezaar Sulagti Rahi Bahut
Roti Kabhi Rahi Kabhi Hansti Rahi Bahut
Khushbu-E- Gul Chaman Main Batakti Rahi Bahut
Deewangi Ki Aik Nayi Duniya Dikha Gaya
Be-Aasra Bhi Ho Ke Bahlna Qabool Hai
Shamma Ki Tarah Mujh Ko Pighalna Qabool Hai
Purkhar Raaston Pe Bhi Chalna Qabool Hai
Kaanton Ki Rahguzar Se Ulajhna Sikha Gaya
Yun Falsafa Hayat Ka Mujh Ko Bata Gaya
Yun Haath Ki Khamosh Lakeeron Main Aa Gaya
A litterateur is not a confectioner, not a dealer in cosmetics, not an entertainer. . . . He is just like an ordinary reporter. What would you say if a newspaper reporter, because of his fastidiousness or from a wish to give pleasure to his readers, were to describe only honest mayors, high-minded ladies, and virtuous railroad contractors.
Grief and tragedy and hatred are only for a time. Goodness, remembrance and love have no end, and the Lord of life holds all who die and all who mourn.
The soul is the perceiver and revealer of truth. We know truth when we see it, let skeptic and scoffer say what they choose ... We distinguish the announcements of the soul, its manifestations of its own nature, by the term Revelation. These are always attended by the emotion of the sublime. For this communication is an influx of the Divine mind into our mind. It is an ebb of the individual rivulet before the flowing surges of the sea of life. Every distinct apprehension of this central commandment agitates men with awe and delight.
She sleeps: her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart She sleeps: on either hand upswells The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest.
And I'm a stodgy old scientist who believes, naively, that there exists an external world, that there exist objective truths about that world, and that my job is to discover some of them.