The cosmos is interesting rather than perfect, and everything is not part of some greater plan, nor is all necessarily under control.
Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colours, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.
Life is like a 1,000 page book. You want to quit halfway through, but then you realise you have a lot left to look forward to.
There are those who spend their lives arguing which is better, the crescent moon or the full. Then there are a few who revel in both for they know The Moon is One.
This Self who gives rise to all works, all desires, all odours, all tastes, who pervades the universe, who is beyond words, who is joy abiding, who is ever present in my heart, is Brahmn indeed. To him I shall attain when my ego dies.
