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Poems

Page : 1147
There are not many people who are able to enjoy more pleasure.
Who wants to feel his mediation, then walk over to one baltsmilšaino beach. Small, shiny, countless grains of sand. . . A man and a grain of sand - or nava anyway?
Each individual has neuzstājams grains of sand around the globe in the structure and thus the political, cultural and material terms responsible for everything that happens and does not happen.
We are all travelers of life on the train, which picked up and get out of the same will not heal, ignorantly forces that pull the train forward.
soul to be bold. It\'s hard to catch birds of joy than pain flow yield. The pain - it is our most realistic part of life, they accompany us and against our will, but to create the same joy. Life we ​​are subject to cross, but our joy jādēstī flower garden, or having to walk in paths, in order to look up. It usually blooms on steep slopes, and only the fearless can be hand picked.
in each case, just as every person is a party day and night - to hide. Warm gray or soft, bright green mossy stone lying in the sun. How beautiful - you are saying and would sit down on this stone. But Beware of picking up and see the wet half of the night swarming and bends. . .
birth to a lot of which no one knows why they were born, for, forgotten by God. Heavenly sun warms all the plants, but where is the hand that apmīļotu all people?
past we all go along like our shadow, we can only sometimes pretend not to notice it as.
Bitters hearts are blind hearts.
Christian morality is the heart of the original clarity.
God and loving people we are closer, turned a blind eye and tacitly, than when you look at it with a magnifying glass and the word apbruņojamies systems.
soul, which can not tolerate too much pain, they reduce all kinds, neticēdama him who does not want to believe.
true worship can occur in the open air, under the shady oak, flowering meadow or rose valley.
What people are united, there is more than what separates them.
who live only for yourself, do not live at all.

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Page : 1147


Poems

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