Stray birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away. And yellow leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall there with a sigh. - Rabindranath Tagore

কে মোরে ফিরাবে অনাদরে
কে মোরে ডাকিবে কাছে,
কাহার প্রেমের বেদনায আমার মূল্য আছে,
এ নিরন্তর সংশযে হায পারিনে যুঝিতে — আমি তোমারেই শুধু পেরেছি বুঝিতে..

Of course man is useful to man, because his body is a marvellous machine and his mind an organ of wonderful efficiency. But he is a spirit as well, and this spirit is truly known only by love. When we define a man by the market value of the service we can expect of him, we know him imperfectly. With this limited knowledge of him it becomes easy for us to be unjust to him and to entertain feelings of triumphant self-congratulation when, on account of some cruel advantage on our side, we can get out of him much more than we have paid for. But when we know him as a spirit we know him as our own. We at once feel that cruelty to him is cruelty to ourselves, to make him small is stealing from our own humanity...

Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.