People love chopping wood. In this activity one immediately sees results.

I must confess that flowers are my weakness and I love receiving them, especially Indian fragrant flowers - Mogra, Rajnigandha, Sontakka, etc.

We write for the same reason that we walk, talk, climb mountains or swim the oceans - because we can. We have some impulse within us that makes us want to explain ourselves to other human beings. That's why we paint, that's why we dare to love someone - because we have the impulse to explain who we are.

Surely the day will come when color means nothing more than the skin tone, when religion is seen uniquely as a way to speak one's soul, when birth places have the weight of a throw of the dice and all men are born free, when understanding breeds love and brotherhood.

Many believe - and I believe - that I have been designated for this work by God. In spite of my old age, I do not want to give it up; I work out of love for God and I put all my hope in Him.

The moment I first heard love I gave up my soul, my heart, and my eyes.

The sweetest joy, the wildest woe is love. What the world really needs is more love and less paperwork.

Love is not a mere impulse, it must contain truth, which is law.

Falling out of love is chiefly a matter of forgetting how charming someone is.

In the stillness of your presence, you can feel your own formless and timeless reality as the unmanifested life that animates your physical form. You can then feel the same life deep within every other human and every other creature. You look beyond the veil of form and separation. This is the realization of oneness. This is love.