Nature lies, disheveled, pale, With her feverish lips apart,- Day by day the pulses fail, Nearer to her bounding heart.
The true colour of life is the colour of the body, the colour of the covered red, the implicit and not explicit red of the living heart and the pulses. It is the modest colour of the unpublished blood.
I think people often underestimate the power of consumers. But I equally say that consumers are like shock troops: You can't keep them agitated and motivated and committed and active forever. There are pulses where they switch on to a particular issue, and just inevitably they switch off.
Yet the love we experience through other people is just a shadow of the love of the inner self. There is a sublime place inside us where love dwells. The love that pulses in the cave of the heart does not depend on anything outside. It does not expect anything. It is completely independent.
For axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses.
Deep down, fundamentally, we are the 'unborn'. We never came into being and we never go out of being. All of these coming and goings are just pulses in the pattern
Time was our very first king. We all live our lives to the aggressive ticking of the clock. We don't question that our lives are a grid of seconds; even our pulses oblige. No succeeding king can hope to hold this kind of power.
Ah, life, life, how madly, how cruelly it raced along your pulses!
The fireflies o'er the meadow In pulses come and go.
Each cell sends electrical pulses to other cells, up to hundreds of times per second. If you represented each of these trillions and trillions of pulses in your brain by a single photon of light, the combined output would be blinding.
