Nothing is forever, but there's a continuing stream of people who go through our lives and continue with us. . . Nothing just stops and stays. . . But it flows on. . . Like a river.
The earth is not a mere fragment of dead history, stratum upon stratum like the leaves of a book, to be studied by geologists and antiquaries chiefly, but living poetry like the leaves of a tree, which precede flowers and fruit ~ not a fossil earth, but a living earth; compared with whose great central life all animal and vegetable life is merely parasitic. Its throes will heave our exuviæ from their graves. . . You may melt your metals and cast them into the most beautiful moulds you can; they will never excite me like the forms which this molten earth flows out into.
Power flows to those who serve.
Faith is a channel through which the anointing flows.
I think in theater the playwright is king. Those words are unchangeable. They are the reason that everything else flows from.
Misery is nothing but the shadow of attachment. And hence all stagnancy. The attached person becomes a stagnant pool - sooner or later he will stink. He flows no more.