Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.

The air was fragrant with a thousand trodden aromatic herbs, with fields of lavender, and with the brightest roses blushing in tufts all over the meadows.

Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.

The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep to-night.

It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician.

Hark to that shrill, sudden shout, The cry of an applauding multitude, Swayed by some loud-voiced orator who wields The living mass as if he were its soul!

These struggling tides of life that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end.

But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame.

Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.

There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night; And grief may hide an evening guest, But joy shall come with early light.

The groves were God's first temples.

The excitement of learning separates youth from old age. As long as you're learning you're not old.

I do think of Bombay as my hometown. Those are the streets I walked when I was learning to walk. And it's the place that my imagination has returned to more than anywhere else.

ELEGY, n. A composition in verse, in which, without employing any of the methods of humor, the writer aims to produce in the reader's mind the dampest kind of dejection.

The soul has words as petals.

Love teaches you to love your own mortality, just as we love the flowers that bloom for a short time and pass on.

With my busy schedule, it's impossible to have a set fitness routine. So instead I like to try and incorporate exercise into my daily life whenever I can - which requires some creativity.

The mind can weave itself warmly in the cocoon of its own thoughts, and dwell a hermit anywhere.

In the last couple of years I've been picking up my guitar again.

I want to make as many people as possible feel like they are part of this adventure. We are going to give everybody a sense of what exploring the surface of another world is really like.

What is a modern poet's fate? / To write his thoughts upon a slate; / The critic spits on what is done, / Gives it a wipe - and all is gone.