There are always lone hearth-fires so many And those who sit beside them with the empty chair cannot restrain the tears that will come. One sits alone so much. There is some One unseen just here within reach. But somehow we dont realize His presence. Realizing is blessed but--rare. It belongs to the mood to the feelings. It is dependent on weather conditions and bodily conditions. The rain the heavy fog outside the poor sleep the twinging pain these make ones mood so much they seem to blur out the realizing.But there is something a little higher up than realizing. It is yet more blessed. It is independent of these outer conditions it is something that abides. It is this recognizing that Presence unseen so wondrous and quieting so soothing and calming and warming. Recognize His presence--the Masters own. He is here close by His presence is real. Recognizing will help realizing too but it never depends on it.Aye more immensely more the Truth is a Presence not a thing a fact a statement. Some One is present a warm-hearted Friend an all-powerful Lord. And this is the joyful truth for weeping hearts everywhere whatever be the hand that has drawn the tears by whatever stream it be that your weeping willow is planted.

when we are weary we speak lovingly of dreams as if they embodied our true deisres-What we WOULD have when that which we DO have so sorely disappoints us

How blessed are some people whose lives have no fears no dreads to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly and brings nothing but sweet dreams.

The person who prays and who wants to gain a deeper understanding of the word he desires to worship in order to be more single-mindedly at the words disposal will select with great care basic works for his studies which will observe the so-called exactitude of scholarship without losing sight of the most important exactitude namely the ordering of all thought toward prayer.

Put work into your dreams.

Because it begins to seem to me at such times that I am incapable of beginning a life in real life because it has seemed to me that I have lost all touch all instinct for the actual the real because at last I have cursed myself because after my fantastic nights I have moments of returning sobriety which are awful Meanwhile you hear the whirl and roar of the crowd in the vortex of life around you you hear you see men living in reality you see that life for them is not forbidden that their life does not float away like a dream like a vision that their life is being eternally renewed eternally youthful and not one hour of it is the same as another while fancy is so spiritless monotonous to vulgarity and easily scared the slave of shadows of the idea the slave of the first cloud that shrouds the sun... One feels that this inexhaustible fancy is weary at last and worn out with continual exercise because one is growing into manhood outgrowing ones old ideals they are being shattered into fragments into dust if there is no other life one must build one up from the fragments. And meanwhile the soul longs and craves for something else And in vain the dreamer rakes over his old dreams as though seeking a spark among the embers to fan them into flame to warm his chilled heart by the rekindled fire and to rouse up in it again all that was so sweet that touched his heart that set his blood boiling drew tears from his eyes and so luxuriously deceived him

My prayers my tears my wishes fears and lamentations were witnessed by myself and heaven alone. When we are harassed by sorrows or anxieties or long oppressed by any powerful feelings which we must keep to ourselves for which we can obtain and seek no sympathy from any living creature and which yet we cannot or will not wholly crush we often naturally seek relief in poetryand often find it toowhether in the effusions of others which seem to harmonize with our existing case or in our own attempts to give utterance to those thoughts and feelings in strains less musical perchance but more appropriate and therefore more penetrating and sympathetic and for the time more soothing or more powerful to rouse and to unburden the oppressed and swollen heart.

When you punish a person for dreaming his dreamDont expect him to thank or forgive you.

Often secret desires as well as abilities surface in our dreams.

She is free in her wildness she is a wanderess a drop of free water. She knows nothing of borders and cares nothing for rules or customs. Time for her isnt something to fight against. Her life flows clean with passion like fresh water.