There is no greater wealth than Virtue,
And no greater loss than to forget it.

Earth receives the seed and guards it,
  Trustfully it dies:
Then what teeming life rewards it,
  For self-sacrifice.
With green leaf and clustering blossom
  Clad, or golden fruit,
See it from earth’s cheerless bosom
  Ever sunward shoot.

Wouldst thou the young year’s blossoms, and the fruits of its decline,
And all by which the soul is charmed, enraptured, feasted, fed;
Wouldst thou the Earth and Heaven itself in one sole name combine?
I name thee, O Shakuntala! and all at once is said.

Good friends we have had, oh good friends we've lost along the way
In this bright future you can't forget your past
So dry your tears I say
No woman, no cry
No woman, no cry
Little darlin' don't shed no tears
No woman, no cry

One win and you’re on top of the world. Lose in the first round of the next tournament; you’re back to reality.

The greatest danger, that of losing one's own self, may pass off as quietly as if it were nothing; every other loss, that of an arm, a leg, five dollars, a wife etc., is sure to be noticed.

I learned from that time period that, even though the past is always kind of right there, you can decide to start over with a loved one," Liz tells OWN. "I lost my mom, and we did not have enough connection at the time, and I was not going to let that happen again.

Okay. You know, I lost my family. Wife divorced me. Kids won't even talk to me. And for what?

No thing great is created suddenly, any more than a bunch of grapes or a fig. If you tell me that you desire a fig, I answer you that there must be time. Let it first blossom, then bear fruit, then ripen.

... the sparrow’s chirp, the crow’s caw, the willow’s green, the cherry blossom’s pink, are the truth of the Zen master and the essence of Basho's style.

Every Afghan story is marked by death and loss and unimaginable grief. And yet, she sees, people find a way to survive, to go on.

With thee how should we be afraid of loss
O thou, who turnest every loss to gain.

She could be calm in the face of danger because her courage was the outcome of love, not of pride, ‘love ’said Mahatma Gandhi, is hard like a stone and soft like a blossom.

Where find a soul that does not thrill
   In Kalidasa’s verse to meet
The smooth, inevitable lines
   Like blossom-clusters, honey-sweet?

I felt very sorry that I had not met this man.

A war was on. ... On July 14 he was expelled from his home with the rest of his family. He never returned to the city he loved. He never forgot the scenes of in 1948, nor did he forget the idea of violent resistance. Can the Israeli reader understand how he felt?