Rabindranath Tagore, fully Sir Rabindranath Tagore, sobriquet Gurudev, aka Kabi Guru Rabindranath Thakur or Biswa Kabi

Rabindranath
Tagore, fully Sir Rabindranath Tagore, sobriquet Gurudev, aka Kabi Guru Rabindranath Thakur or Biswa Kabi
1861
1941

Bengalese Mystical Poet, Essayist, Song Composer, Painter, Polymath, Founder Shantaniketan University, awarded Nobel Prize in Literature

Author Quotes

We can make truth ours by actively modulating its inter-relations. This is the work of art; for reality is not based in the substance of things but in the principle of relationship. Truth is the infinite pursued by metaphysics; fact is the infinite pursued by science, while reality is the definition of the infinite which relates truth to the person. Reality is human; it is what we are conscious of, by which we are affected, that which we express.

Whatever we treasure for ourselves separates us from others; our possessions are our limitations.

Where are those tears in your eyes, my child? How horrid of them to be always scolding you for nothing! You have stained your fingers and face with ink while writing- is that why they call you dirty? O, fie! Would they dare to call the full moon dirty because it has smudged its face with ink?

We cannot cross the sea merely by staring at the water.

Whatever we understand and enjoy in human products instantly becomes ours, wherever they might have their origin... Let me feel with unalloyed gladness that all the great glories of man are mine.

Where is heaven? you ask me, my child,-the sages tell us it is beyond the limits of birth and death, unswayed by the rhythm of day and night; it is not of the earth. But your poet knows that its eternal hunger is for time and space, and it strives evermore to be born in the fruitful dust. Heaven is fulfilled in your sweet body, my child, in your palpitating heart. The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers are a-tiptoe to kiss you. For heaven is born in you, in the arms of the mother-dust.

We cannot look upon our lives as dreams of a dreamer who has no awakening in all time. We have a personality to which matter and force are unmeaning unless related to something infinitely personal, whose nature we have discovered, in some measure, in human love, in the greatness of the good, in the martyrdom of heroic souls, in the ineffable beauty of nature, which can never be a mere physical fact nor anything but an expression of personality.

When he has the power to see things detached from self-interest and from the insistent claims of the lust of the senses, then alone can he have the true vision of the beauty that is everywhere. Then only can he see that what is unpleasant to us is not necessarily unbeautiful, but has its beauty in truth.

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high; Where knowledge is free; Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls; Where words come out from the depth of truth; Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection; Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way in the dreary desert sand of dead habit; Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever widening thought and action.... into that heaven of freedom, my father, let my country awake.

We come nearest to the great when we are great in humility.

When I bring you colored toys, my child, I understand why there is such a play of colors on clouds, on water, and why flowers are painted in tints

Where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders.

We could have no communication whatever with our surroundings if they were absolutely foreign to us. Man is reaping success every day, and that shows there is a rational connection between him and nature, for we never can make anything our own except

When I go alone at night to my love-tryst, birds do not sing, the wind does not stir, the houses on both sides of the street stand silent. It is my own anklets that grow loud at every step and I am ashamed. When I sit on my balcony and listen for his footsteps, leaves do not rustle on the trees, and the water is still in the river like the sword on the knees of a sentry fallen asleep. It is my own heart that beats wildly -- I do not know how to quiet it. When my love comes and sits by my side, when my body trembles and my eyelids droop, the night darkens, the wind blows out the lamp, and the clouds draw veils over the stars. It is the jewel at my own breast that shines and gives light. I do not know how to hide it.

While God waits for his temple to be built of love, men bring stones.

We cross infinity with every step; we meet eternity in every second.

When I go from hence, let this be my parting word, that what I have seen is unsurpassable. I have tasted of the hidden honey of this lotus that expands on the ocean of light, and thus I am blessed—let this be my parting word. In this playhouse of infinite forms I have had my play and here have I caught sight of him who Is formless. My whole body and my limbs have thrilled with his touch who is beyond touch; and if the end comes here, let it come—let this be my parting word.

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.

We do not raise our hands to the void for things beyond hope.

When I stand before thee at the day s end, thou shalt see my scars and know that I had my wounds and also my healing.

With begging and scrambling we find very little, but with being true to ourselves we find a great deal more.

We do not stray out of all words into the ever silent; We do not raise our hands to the void for things beyond hope.

When old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart; and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders.

Wrong is wrong only when you are at liberty to choose.

We gain freedom when we have paid the full price for our right to live.

Author Picture
First Name
Rabindranath
Last Name
Tagore, fully Sir Rabindranath Tagore, sobriquet Gurudev, aka Kabi Guru Rabindranath Thakur or Biswa Kabi
Birth Date
1861
Death Date
1941
Bio

Bengalese Mystical Poet, Essayist, Song Composer, Painter, Polymath, Founder Shantaniketan University, awarded Nobel Prize in Literature