Rabindranath Tagore
Rabindranath Tagore
Rabindranath Tagore FRAS, also written Ravīndranātha Thākura, sobriquet Gurudev, was a Bengali polymath who reshaped Bengali literature and music, as well as Indian art with Contextual Modernism in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Author of Gitanjali and its "profoundly sensitive, fresh and beautiful verse", he became the first non-European to win the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913. In translation his poetry was viewed as spiritual and mercurial; however, his "elegant prose and magical poetry" remain largely unknown...
NationalityIndian
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth7 May 1861
CityKolkata, India
CountryIndia
The world has kissed my Soul with its pain, asking for its return in Songs.
Night's darkness is the bag that bursts with the gold of the dawn.
The greed of gain has no time or limit to its capaciousness. Its one object is to produce and consume. It has pity neither for beautiful nature nor for living human beings. It is ruthlessly ready without a moment's hesitation to crush beauty and life.
This is the ultimate end of man, to find the One which is in him; which is his truth, which is his soul; the key with which he opens the gate of the spiritual life, the heavenly kingdom.
Days are coloured bubbles that float upon the surface of fathomless nights.
Life is given to us, we earn it by giving it.
When our universe is in harmony with man, the eternal, we know it as truth, we feel it as beauty.
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.
You smiled and talked to me of nothing and I felt that for this I had been waiting long.
The progress of our soul is like a perfect poem. It has an infinite idea which, once realised, makes all movements full of meaning and joy.
Love is not a mere impulse, it must contain truth, which is law.
Death is turning out the lamp because the dawn has appeared.
The tragedy of human life consists in our vain attempts to stretch the limits of things which can never become unlimited, to reach the infinite by absurdly adding to the rungs of the ladder of the finite.
The Taj Mahal rises above the banks of the river like a solitary tear suspended on the cheek of time.