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Quote by Bruce Mbanzabugabo

“Even though doors have been opened for you, better ask your limits!”

Quote by Bruce Mbanzabugabo

Book:The Inspirer, Book of Quotes

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The Inspirer, Book of Quotes

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Bruce Mbanzabugabo

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“Ask for a book and I'll give you a book. Ask for money and I'll give you a book.”

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“With all its many risks, this life endures No more than windblown bubbles in a stream. How marvelous to breathe in and out again, To fall asleep and then awake refreshed.”

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“Covered by the web of disturbing emotions, One is a sentient being. Freed from disturbing emotions, One is called a buddha. – Nagarjuna”

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“Don’t you mind dying, sir?” the consul asked. “Forgive me a little lofty talk,” van Gulik said, “but all movement is illusory. From Seoul to Kobe. From life to death.”

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“Now, we come to the heart of the Buddhadharma, to compassion. If you wanted to say in one word what is the essence of Buddha‘s teaching, of the enlightenment teaching, it would be compassion. The statement of Nagarjuna, the great master of two thousand years ago in India, crystallized this. He said, „Voidness is the womb of compassion.“ In Sanskrit this reads, shunyata karuna garbham; in Tibetan, tong nyid nying jey nying po jen, which may be the most beautiful phrase ever in Tibetan […] when we discover our freedom, this discovery flows immediately into universal compassion for all beings. (p. 111)”

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“Love transcends beyond eternity and it is perpetual as our own consciousness..”

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“THE IVY GREEN Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy green, That creepeth o’er ruins old! Of right choice food are his meals, I ween, In his cell so lone and cold. The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed, To pleasure his dainty whim; And the mouldering dust that years have made, Is a merry meal for him. Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the Ivy green. Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings, And a staunch old heart has he. How closely he twineth, how tight he clings To his friend the huge Oak Tree! And slily he traileth along the ground, And his leaves he gently waves, As he joyously hugs and crawleth round The rich mould of dead men’s graves. Creeping where grim death has been, A rare old plant is the Ivy green. Whole ages have fled and their works decayed, And nations have scattered been; But the stout old Ivy shall never fade, From its hale and hearty green. The brave old plant in its lonely days, Shall fatten upon the past; For the stateliest building man can raise, Is the Ivy’s food at last. Creeping on where time has been, A rare old plant is the Ivy green.”

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