“For we women are not only the deities of the household fire, but the flame of the soul itself.”

Nirvana is not the blowing out of the candle. It is the extinguishing of the flame because day is come.

Come oh come ye tea-thirsty restless ones -the kettle boils, bubbles and sings, musically.

Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but for the heart to conquer it.

Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark.

By plucking her petals you do not gather the beauty of the flower.

The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.

I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times, In life after life, in age after age, forever.

Never be afraid of the moments–thus sings the voice of the everlasting.

Trees are the earth’s endless effort to speak to the listening heaven.

Love adorns itself; it seeks to prove inward by outward beauty.

Never be afraid of the moments-thus sings the voice of the everlasting.

Love does not claim possession, but gives freedom.

Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the gates are open in my house – do not pass by like a dream.

Men are cruel, but Man is kind.

Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.

It is very simple to be happy, but it is very difficult to be simple.

Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.

Gratitude, warm, sincere, intense, when it takes possession of the bosom, fills the soul to overflowing and scarce leaves room for any other sentiment or thought.

My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies, Fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.

Loving can heal, loving can mend your soul and it’s the only thing that I know.

Spiritual practices help us move from identifying with the ego to identifying with the soul. Old age does that for you too. It spiritualizes people naturally.

I am not a duplicate multiple soul, rather a unique rare blooming nurturer, so never compare me with other precious souls.

I have a habit of seeing through the cloak that they wear to hide what truly resides in their soul. I have a habit of tearing out skeletons from the blackest of closets; although it’s never the goal. I have a habit of forcing others to look in the mirror, at the darkest parts of their soul. And I no longer want to play the role.

It’s very different because the Indians live as if they are their souls and Americans live as if they are their egos.