Self Is The Lord Of Self, Who

Every Life Has Its Years In Which One Progresses As On A Tedious And Dusty Street Of Poplars, Without Caring To Know Where He Is.

What Is Emitted From The Divine, Though It Be Only Like The Reflection From The Fire, Still Has The Divine Reality In Itself, And One Might Almost Ask What Were The Fire Without Glow, The Sun Without Light, Or The Creator Without The Creature?

It Smote Me To The Heart That I Had Found No One In All The World Who Loved Me More Than All Others.

There Is No Book In The World That Is So Thrilling, Stirring And Inspiring As The Upanishads.

Bad Deeds, And Deeds Hurtful To Ourselves, Are Easy To Do; What Is Beneficial And Good, That Is Very Difficult To Do.