The echo mocks her origin to prove she is the original. - Rabindranath Tagore

Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence? I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds. Open your doors and look abroad. From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of an hundred years before. In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning, sending its glad voice across a hundred years.

Let the dead have the immortality of fame, but the living the immortality of love.

Like the meeting of the seagulls and the waves we meet and come near. The seagulls fly off, the waves roll away and we depart.