Beside the brook and on the umbered meadow, Where yellow fern-tufts fleck the faded ground, With folded lids beneath their palmy shadow The gentian nods in dewy slumbers bound.

The aster greets us as we pass With her faint smile.

When summer gathers up her robes of glory, and like a dream of beauty glides away.

The shy little Mayflower weaves her nest, But the south wind sighs o'er the fragrant loam, And betrays the path to her woodland home.

The way of truth is like a great road. It is not difficult to know it. The evil is only that men will not seek it.

Our home is a belonging place.

Poetry of the universe is written with flowers and the lights of love on a canvas we call earth.

We are never half so interesting when we have learned that language is given us to enable us to conceal our thoughts.

For whatever reason, I don't know why, but Cambodians learned something in their suffering and their struggle that we have lost touch with.

Naturally there is reincarnation ... otherwise life would be pretty dull. All the patterns in this lifetime are results from patterns in other lifetimes.

Charity is not a government program.

There is no greater offence than harbouring desires. There is no greater disaster than discontent. There is no greater misfortune than wanting more.

All I say is by way of discourse, and nothing by way of advice. I should not speak so boldly if it were my due to be believed.

It's tougher to be vulnerable than to actually be tough.