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Quote by Tushar Sandbhor

“On the one hand he felt himself the luckiest man of this universe because he own her but on other hand she put her everything at stake for a mirage.”

Quote by Tushar Sandbhor

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Tushar Sandbhor

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“O' Muse, goddess of music, songs and a poet's mind,bestow me your sources with treasures vivid;that of beauty you shall exempt to liberal lend,with genii of views in fancied world holds an aid—like a rare device which instructs the deep ideas.”

“Cynthia then holiness spread in arctic dews, from lately month that it pinion'd the living world,there did swell the mild and greenish meadows,winter anew its frozen gold of treasury wild.”

“When it forms the soul of purest liberty,which an aid that makes all the broad sense vivid and meet knowledge's growing beauty,mindful state where solemn music attunes.”

“faith doesn't mean that you don't have doubts... [you] still experience the same greed, resentment, lust, and anger that everyone else experienced... the lines between sinner and saved [are] more fluid; the sins of those who come to church are not so different from the sins of those who don't... You [need] to come to church precisely because you [are] of this world, not apart from it; rich, poor, sinner, saved you [need] to embrace Christ precisely because you had sins to wash away... that religious commitment did not require me to suspend critical thinking, disengage from the battle for economic and social justice, or otherwise retreat from the world...”

“Behold the world,where I stoop to dwell in, where no chasms that safe my varying dim views,but has the e'er longing for nature's inn, silent her breeze,that lulls my tiresome eyes.”

“Behold the world,where I stoop to dwell in, where no chasms that safe my varying dim views, but have the e'er longing for nature's inn, silent her breeze,that lulls my tiresome eyes;”

“Now weary drought is unfolding with morn's very maturing warmth,where scorching sun's importing beams a glowing fire upon our hearth.Naught,the chillness of rills,no more a flowering spot for musing eyes,summer's dirge is haunting still,we singing our notes in hapless ease.”

“If ‘beauty’ be the self-satisfied pride she bears,each fly does wing around her cherubic sweet face,as they; lovers seek what her anonymous covers,and dream them in a transient trace.”

“Meandering the soul, poor wretch baffl'd kid, whence shall go and wherefore it strives to hourly fate,irregular, perplexed, timely wet and frigid—by life, naive is you and fierce too your dispute.”