Rabindranath Tagore quotes - page 9
Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence? I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds. Open your doors and look abroad. From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of an hundred years before. In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning, sending its glad voice across a hundred years.
Rabindranath Tagore
Things in which we do not take joy are either a burden upon our minds to be got rid of at any cost or they are useful, and therefore in temporary and partial relation to us, becoming burdensome when their utility is lost or they are like wandering vagabonds, loitering for a moment on the outskirts of our recognition, and then passing on. A thing is only completely our own when it is a thing of joy to us.
Rabindranath Tagore