When truth has no burning, then it is philosophy, when it gets burning from the heart, it becomes poetry.
MUHAMMAD IQBALI have seen the movement of the sinews of the sky, And the blood coursing in the veins of the moon.
More Muhammad Iqbal Quotes
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I have seen the movement of the sinews of the sky, And the blood coursing in the veins of the moon.
MUHAMMAD IQBAL -
But inner experience is only one source of human knowledge.
MUHAMMAD IQBAL -
Why should I ask the wise men: Whence is my beginning? I am busy with the thought: Where will be my end?
MUHAMMAD IQBAL -
Physiologically less violent and psychologically more suitable to a concrete type of mind.
MUHAMMAD IQBAL -
A wrong concept misleads the understanding; a wrong deed degrades the whole man, and may eventually demolish the structure of the human ego.
MUHAMMAD IQBAL -
That is why, according to this newer psychology, Christianity has already fulfilled its biological mission, and it is impossible for the modern man to understand its original significance.
MUHAMMAD IQBAL -
Why hast thou made me born in this country, The inhabitant of which is satisfied with being a slave?
MUHAMMAD IQBAL -
The thought of a limit to perceptual space and time staggers the mind.
MUHAMMAD IQBAL -
Conduct, which involves a decision of the ultimate fate of the agent cannot be based on illusions.
MUHAMMAD IQBAL -
But the universe, as a collection of finite things, presents itself as a kind of island situated in a pure vacuity to which time, regarded as a series of mutually exclusive moments, is nothing and does nothing.
MUHAMMAD IQBAL -
The immediacy of mystic experience simply means that we know God just as we know other objects.
MUHAMMAD IQBAL -
Art: If the object of poetry is, to make men, then poetry is the heir of prophecy.
MUHAMMAD IQBAL -
Nations are born in the hearts of poets, they prosper and die in the hands of politicians.
MUHAMMAD IQBAL -
Unbeliever is he who follows predestination even if he be Muslim, Faithful is he, if he himself is the Divine Destiny.
MUHAMMAD IQBAL -
Since love first made the breast an instrument Of fierce lamenting, by its flame my heart Was molten to a mirror, like a rose I pluck my breast apart, that I may hang This mirror in your sight.
MUHAMMAD IQBAL