As For Me, I Consider

The Grace Of God Is A Wind Which Is Always Blowing.

Disease Is The Tax Which The Soul Pays For The Body, As The Tenant Pays House-rent For The Use Of The House.

One Man May Read The Bhagavata By The Light Of A Lamp, And Another May Commit A Forgery By That Very Light; But The Lamp Is Unaffected. The Sun Sheds Its Light On The Wicked As Well As On The Virtuous.

Men Are Like Pillow-cases. The Colour Of One May Be Red, That Of Another Blue, And That Of The Third Black; But All Contain The Same Cotton Within. So It Is With Man; One Is Beautiful, Another Is Ugly, A Third Holy, And A Fourth Wicked; But The Divine Being Dwells In Them All.

Unalloyed Love Of God Is The Essential Thing. All Else Is Unreal.