Quotes by Rabindranath Tagore

And because you have no want, my king, you have no pleasure in your wealth. It is as though it were naught. Therefore through slow time you give me what is yours, and ceaselessly win your kingdom in me. Day after day you buy your sunrise from my heart, and you find your love carven into the image of my life. LXXVIII To the birds you gave songs, the birds gave you songs in return. You gave me only voice, yet asked for more, and I sing. You made your winds light and they are fleet in their service. You burdened my hands that I myself may lighten them, and at last, gain unburdened freedom for your service. You created your Earth filling its shadows with fragments of light. There you paused; you left me empty-handed in the dust to create your heaven. To all things else you give; from me you ask. The harvest of my life ripens in the sun and the shower till I reap more than you sowed, gladdening your heart, O Master of the golden granary. LXXIX Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless in facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain but for the heart to conquer it. Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield but to my own strength. Let me not crave in anxious fear to be saved but hope for the patience to win my freedom. Grant me that I may not be a coward, feeling your mercy in my success alone; but let me find the grasp of your hand in my failure. LXXX You did not know yourself when you dwelt alone, and there was no crying of an errand when the wind ran from the hither to the farther shore. I came and you woke, and the skies blossomed with lights. You made me open in many flowers; rocked me in the cradles of many forms; hid me in death and found me again in life. I came and your heart heaved; pain came to you and joy. You touched me and tingled into love. But in my eyes there is a film of shame and in my breast a flicker of fear; my face is veiled and I weep when I cannot see you. Yet I know the endless thirst in your heart for sight of me, the thirst that cries at my door in the repeated knockings of sunrise.

There comes the morning with the golden basket in her right hand bearing the wreath of beauty, silently to crown the earth. And there comes the evening over the lonely meadows deserted by herds, through trackless paths, carrying cool draughts of peace in her golden pitcher from the western ocean of rest. But there, where spreads the infinite sky for the soul to take her flight in, reigns the stainless white radiance. There is no day nor night, nor form nor colour, and never, never a word. 68. Thy sunbeam comes upon this earth of mine with arms outstretched and stands at my door the livelong day to carry back to thy feet clouds made of my tears and sighs and songs. With fond delight thou wrappest about thy starry breast that mantle of misty cloud, turning it into numberless shapes and folds and colouring it with hues everchanging. It is so light and so fleeting, tender and tearful and dark, that is why thou lovest it, O thou spotless and serene. And that is why it may cover thy awful white light with its pathetic shadows. 69. The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers. It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and of death, in ebb and in flow. I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment. 70. Is it beyond thee to be glad with the gladness of this rhythm? to be tossed and lost and broken in the whirl of this fearful joy? All things rush on, they stop not, they look not behind, no power can hold them back, they rush on. Keeping steps with that restless, rapid music, seasons come dancing and pass away—colours, tunes, and perfumes pour in endless cascades in the abounding joy that scatters and gives up and dies every moment. 71. That I should make much of myself and turn it on all sides, thus casting coloured shadows on thy radiance—such is thy _maya_.

"Let me keep your footprints in my heart." 203 The day, with the noise of this little earth, drowns the silence of all worlds. 204 The song feels the infinite in the air, the picture in the earth, the poem in the air and the earth; For its words have meaning that walks and music that soars. 205 When the sun goes down to the West, the East of his morning stands before him in silence. 206 Let me not put myself wrongly to my world and set it against me. 207 Praise shames me, for I secretly beg for it. 208 Let my doing nothing when I have nothing to do become untroubled in its depth of peace like the evening in the seashore when the water is silent. 209 Maiden, your simplicity, like the blueness of the lake, reveals your depth of truth. 210 The best does not come alone. It comes with the company of the all. 211 God's right hand is gentle, but terrible is his left hand. 212 My evening came among the alien trees and spoke in a language which my morning stars did not know. 213 Night's darkness is a bag that bursts with the gold of the dawn. 214 Our desire lends the colours of the rainbow to the mere mists and vapours of life. 215 God waits to win back his own flowers as gifts from man's hands. 216 My sad thoughts tease me asking me their own names. 217 The service of the fruit is precious, the service of the flower is sweet, but let my service be the service of the leaves in its shade of humble devotion. 218 My heart has spread its sails to the idle winds for the shadowy island of Anywhere. 219 Men are cruel, but Man is kind. 220 Make me thy cup and let my fulness be for thee and for thine. 221 The storm is like the cry of some god in pain whose love the earth refuses. 222 The world does not leak because death is not a crack. 223 Life has become richer by the love that has been lost. 224 My friend, your great heart shone with the sunrise of the East like the snowy summit of a lonely hill in the dawn. 225 The fountain of death makes the still water of life play. 226 Those who have everything but thee, my God, laugh at those who have nothing but thyself.

36 The waterfall sings, "I find my song, when I find my freedom." 37 I cannot tell why this heart languishes in silence. It is for small needs it never asks, or knows or remembers. 38 Woman, when you move about in your household service your limbs sing like a hill stream among its pebbles. 39 The sun goes to cross the Western sea, leaving its last salutation to the East. 40 Do not blame your food because you have no appetite. 41 The trees, like the longings of the earth, stand a-tiptoe to peep at the heaven. 42 You smiled and talked to me of nothing and I felt that for this I had been waiting long. 43 The fish in the water is silent, the animal on the earth is noisy, the bird in the air is singing, But Man has in him the silence of the sea, the noise of the earth and the music of the air. 44 The world rushes on over the strings of the lingering heart making the music of sadness. 45 He has made his weapons his gods. When his weapons win he is defeated himself. 46 God finds himself by creating. 47 Shadow, with her veil drawn, follows Light in secret meekness, with her silent steps of love. 48 The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies. 49 I thank thee that I am none of the wheels of power but I am one with the living creatures that are crushed by it. 50 The mind, sharp but not broad, sticks at every point but does not move. 51 Your idol is shattered in the dust to prove that God's dust is greater than your idol. 52 Man does not reveal himself in his history, he struggles up through it. 53 While the glass lamp rebukes the earthen for calling it cousin, the moon rises, and the glass lamp, with a bland smile, calls her, "My dear, dear sister." 54 Like the meeting of the seagulls and the waves we meet and come near. The seagulls fly off, the waves roll away and we depart. 55 My day is done, and I am like a boat drawn on the beach, listening to the dance-music of the tide in the evening. 56 Life is given to us, we earn it by giving it.

29 My heart beats her waves at the shore of the world and writes upon it her signature in tears with the words, "I love thee." 30 "Moon, for what do you wait?" "To salute the sun for whom I must make way." 31 The trees come up to my window like the yearning voice of the dumb earth. 32 His own mornings are new surprises to God. 33 Life finds its wealth by the claims of the world, and its worth by the claims of love. 34 The dry river-bed finds no thanks for its past. 35 The bird wishes it were a cloud. The cloud wishes it were a bird. 36 The waterfall sings, "I find my song, when I find my freedom." 37 I cannot tell why this heart languishes in silence. It is for small needs it never asks, or knows or remembers. 38 Woman, when you move about in your household service your limbs sing like a hill stream among its pebbles. 39 The sun goes to cross the Western sea, leaving its last salutation to the East. 40 Do not blame your food because you have no appetite. 41 The trees, like the longings of the earth, stand a-tiptoe to peep at the heaven. 42 You smiled and talked to me of nothing and I felt that for this I had been waiting long. 43 The fish in the water is silent, the animal on the earth is noisy, the bird in the air is singing, But Man has in him the silence of the sea, the noise of the earth and the music of the air. 44 The world rushes on over the strings of the lingering heart making the music of sadness. 45 He has made his weapons his gods. When his weapons win he is defeated himself. 46 God finds himself by creating. 47 Shadow, with her veil drawn, follows Light in secret meekness, with her silent steps of love. 48 The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies. 49 I thank thee that I am none of the wheels of power but I am one with the living creatures that are crushed by it. 50 The mind, sharp but not broad, sticks at every point but does not move. 51 Your idol is shattered in the dust to prove that God's dust is greater than your idol. 52 Man does not reveal himself in his history, he struggles up through it. 53 While the glass lamp rebukes the earthen for calling it cousin, the moon rises, and the glass lamp, with a bland smile, calls her, "My dear, dear sister.

Even if the king's army came and fiercely fell upon us we should sadly shake our heads and say, Brothers, you are disturbing us. If you must have this noisy game, go and clatter your arms elsewhere. Since only for a few fleeting moments we have been made immortal. If friendly people came and flocked around us, we should humbly bow to them and say, This extravagant good fortune is an embarrassment to us. Room is scarce in the infinite sky where we dwell. For in the springtime flowers come in crowds, and the busy wings of bees jostle each other. Our little heaven, where dwell only we two immortals, is too absurdly narrow. 45 To the guests that must go bid God's speed and brush away all traces of their steps. Take to your bosom with a smile what is easy and simple and near. To-day is the festival of phantoms that know not when they die. Let your laughter be but a meaningless mirth like twinkles of light on the ripples. Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf. Strike in chords from your harp fitful momentary rhythms. 46 You left me and went on your way. I thought I should mourn for you and set your solitary image in my heart wrought in a golden song. But ah, my evil fortune, time is short. Youth wanes year after year; the spring days are fugitive; the frail flowers die for nothing, and the wise man warns me that life is but a dew-drop on the lotus leaf. Should I neglect all this to gaze after one who has turned her back on me? That would be rude and foolish, for time is short. Then, come, my rainy nights with pattering feet; smile, my golden autumn; come, careless April, scattering your kisses abroad. You come, and you, and you also! My loves, you know we are mortals. Is it wise to break one's heart for the one who takes her heart away? For time is short. It is sweet to sit in a corner to muse and write in rhymes that you are all my world. It is heroic to hug one's sorrow and determine not to be consoled.

76 The poet wind is out over the sea and the forest to seek his own voice. 77 Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man. 78 The grass seeks her crowd in the earth. The tree seeks his solitude of the sky. 79 Man barricades against himself. 80 Your voice, my friend, wanders in my heart, like the muffled sound of the sea among these listening pines. 81 What is this unseen flame of darkness whose sparks are the stars? 82 Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death like autumn leaves. 83 He who wants to do good knocks at the gate; he who loves finds the gate open. 84 In death the many becomes one; in life the one becomes many. Religion will be one when God is dead. 85 The artist is the lover of Nature, therefore he is her slave and her master. 86 "How far are you from me, O Fruit?" "I am hidden in your heart, O Flower." 87 This longing is for the one who is felt in the dark, but not seen in the day. 88 "You are the big drop of dew under the lotus leaf, I am the smaller one on its upper side," said the dewdrop to the lake. 89 The scabbard is content to be dull when it protects the keenness of the sword. 90 In darkness the One appears as uniform; in the light the One appears as manifold. 91 The great earth makes herself hospitable with the help of the grass. 92 The birth and death of the leaves are the rapid whirls of the eddy whose wider circles move slowly among stars. 93 Power said to the world, "You are mine. The world kept it prisoner on her throne. Love said to the world, "I am thine." The world gave it the freedom of her house. 94 The mist is like the earth's desire. It hides the sun for whom she cries. 95 Be still, my heart, these great trees are prayers. 96 The noise of the moment scoffs at the music of the Eternal. 97 I think of other ages that floated upon the stream of life and love and death and are forgotten, and I feel the freedom of passing away. 98 The sadness of my soul is her bride's veil. It waits to be lifted in the night. 99 Death's stamp gives value to the coin of life; making it possible to buy with life what is truly precious.

In me is thy own defeat of self. This screen that thou hast raised is painted with innumerable figures with the brush of the night and the day. Behind it thy seat is woven in wondrous mysteries of curves, casting away all barren lines of straightness. The great pageant of thee and me has overspread the sky. With the tune of thee and me all the air is vibrant, and all ages pass with the hiding and seeking of thee and me. 72. He it is, the innermost one, who awakens my being with his deep hidden touches. He it is who puts his enchantment upon these eyes and joyfully plays on the chords of my heart in varied cadence of pleasure and pain. He it is who weaves the web of this _maya_ in evanescent hues of gold and silver, blue and green, and lets peep out through the folds his feet, at whose touch I forget myself. Days come and ages pass, and it is ever he who moves my heart in many a name, in many a guise, in many a rapture of joy and of sorrow. 73. Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight. Thou ever pourest for me the fresh draught of thy wine of various colours and fragrance, filling this earthen vessel to the brim. My world will light its hundred different lamps with thy flame and place them before the altar of thy temple. No, I will never shut the doors of my senses. The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight. Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy, and all my desires ripen into fruits of love. 74. The day is no more, the shadow is upon the earth. It is time that I go to the stream to fill my pitcher. The evening air is eager with the sad music of the water. Ah, it calls me out into the dusk. In the lonely lane there is no passer-by, the wind is up, the ripples are rampant in the river. I know not if I shall come back home. I know not whom I shall chance to meet. There at the fording in the little boat the unknown man plays upon his lute. 75. Thy gifts to us mortals fulfil all our needs and yet run back to thee undiminished.

The numbness of age-long habit in their old marriage was entirely removed by the longing born of separation, and she seemed to win her husband much more closely than before. Had she not vowed in her mind that whatever days might come, and how long soever they might be, she would never let the brightness of this glowing love for her husband be dimmed. Of this reunion, however, Joygopal felt differently. When they were constantly together before he had been bound to his wife by his interests and idiosyncrasies. His wife was then a living truth in his life, and there would have been a great rent in the web of his daily habit if she were left out. Consequently Joygopal found himself in deep waters at first when he went abroad. But in time this breach in habit was patched up by a new habit. And this was not all. Formerly his days went by in the most indolent and careless fashion. For the last two years, the stimulus of bettering his condition had stirred so powerfully in his breast that he had nothing else in his thoughts. As compared with the intensity of this new passion, his old life seemed like an unsubstantial shadow. The greatest changes in a woman's nature are wrought by love; in a man's, by ambition. Joygopal, when he returned after two years, found his wife not quite the same as of old. To her life his infant brother-in-law had added a new breadth. This part of her life was wholly unfamiliar to him--here he had no communion with his wife. His wife tried hard to share her love for the child with him, but it cannot be said that she succeeded. Sasi would come with the child in her arms, and hold him before her husband with a smiling face--Nilmani would clasp Sasi's neck, and hide his face on her shoulder, and admit no obligation of kindred. Sasi wished that her little brother might show Joygopal all the arts he had learnt to capture a man's mind. But Joygopal was not very keen about it. How could the child show any enthusiasm? Joygopal could not at all understand what there was in the heavy-pated, grave-faced, dusky child that so much love should be wasted on him. Women quickly understand the ways of love. Sasi at once understood that Joygopal did not care for Nilmani.

64 Thank the flame for its light, but do not forget the lampholder standing in the shade with constancy of patience. 65 Tiny grass, your steps are small, but you possess the earth under your tread. 66 The infant flower opens its bud and cries, "Dear World, please do not fade." 67 God grows weary of great kingdoms, but never of little flowers. 68 Wrong cannot afford defeat but Right can. 69 "I give my whole water in joy," sings the waterfall, "though little of it is enough for the thirsty." 70 Where is the fountain that throws up these flowers in a ceaseless outbreak of ecstasy? 71 The woodcutter's axe begged for its handle from the tree. The tree gave it. 72 In my solitude of heart I feel the sigh of this widowed evening veiled with mist and rain. 73 Chastity is a wealth that comes from abundance of love. 74 The mist, like love, plays upon the heart of the hills and brings out surprises of beauty. 75 We read the world wrong and say that it deceives us. 76 The poet wind is out over the sea and the forest to seek his own voice. 77 Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man. 78 The grass seeks her crowd in the earth. The tree seeks his solitude of the sky. 79 Man barricades against himself. 80 Your voice, my friend, wanders in my heart, like the muffled sound of the sea among these listening pines. 81 What is this unseen flame of darkness whose sparks are the stars? 82 Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death like autumn leaves. 83 He who wants to do good knocks at the gate; he who loves finds the gate open. 84 In death the many becomes one; in life the one becomes many. Religion will be one when God is dead. 85 The artist is the lover of Nature, therefore he is her slave and her master. 86 "How far are you from me, O Fruit?" "I am hidden in your heart, O Flower." 87 This longing is for the one who is felt in the dark, but not seen in the day. 88 "You are the big drop of dew under the lotus leaf, I am the smaller one on its upper side," said the dewdrop to the lake. 89 The scabbard is content to be dull when it protects the keenness of the sword.

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high; Where knowledge is free; Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls; Where words come out from the depth of truth; Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection; Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit; Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action— Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake. 36. This is my prayer to thee, my lord—strike, strike at the root of penury in my heart. Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows. Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service. Give me the strength never to disown the poor or bend my knees before insolent might. Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles. And give me the strength to surrender my strength to thy will with love. 37. I thought that my voyage had come to its end at the last limit of my power,—that the path before me was closed, that provisions were exhausted and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity. But I find that thy will knows no end in me. And when old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart; and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders. 38. That I want thee, only thee—let my heart repeat without end. All desires that distract me, day and night, are false and empty to the core. As the night keeps hidden in its gloom the petition for light, even thus in the depth of my unconsciousness rings the cry—I want thee, only thee. As the storm still seeks its end in peace when it strikes against peace with all its might, even thus my rebellion strikes against thy love and still its cry is—I want thee, only thee. 39. When the heart is hard and parched up, come upon me with a shower of mercy. When grace is lost from life, come with a burst of song. When tumultuous work raises its din on all sides shutting me out from beyond, come to me, my lord of silence, with thy peace and rest. When my beggarly heart sits crouched, shut up in a corner, break open the door, my king, and come with the ceremony of a king. When desire blinds the mind with delusion and dust, O thou holy one, thou wakeful, come with thy light and thy thunder.