A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, and man cannot live without love.
Is it sin, which makes the worm a chrysalis, and the chrysalis a butterfly, and the butterfly dust?
I believe I can even yet remember when I saw the stars for the first time.
Would not the child's heart break in despair when the first cold storm of the world sweeps over it, if the warm sunlight of love from the eyes of mother and father did not shine upon him like the soft reflection of divine light and love?
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?
That is the returning to God which in reality is never concluded on earth but yet leaves behind in the soul a divine home sickness, which never again ceases.
While the river of life glides along smoothly, it remains the same river; only the landscape on either bank seems to change.
Childhood has its secrets and its mysteries; but who can tell or who can explain them!
The spring of love becomes hidden and soon filled up.
Thus one memory follows another until the waves dash together over our heads, and a deep sigh swells the breast, which warns us that we have forgotten to breathe in the midst of these pure thoughts.
Whoever knows it also knows that in love there is no More and no Less; but that he who loves can only love with the whole heart, and with the whole soul; with all his strength and with all his will.
Soon the child learns that there are strangers, and ceases to be a child.
Of these years nought remains in memory but the sad feeling that we have advanced and only grown older.
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.
It smote me to the heart that I had found no one in all the world who loved me more than all others.
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