You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

No man can reveal to you nothing but that which already lies half-asleep in the dawning of your knowledge.

Much of your pain is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.

Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They came through you but not from you and though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

Your living is determined not so much by what life brings to you as by the attitude you bring to life; not so much by what happens to you as by the way your mind looks at what happens.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.