A Quote by Sathya Sai Baba

Life is endless, not punctuated by nights, days, months and years - for all are one, in the eternal stream. — © Sathya Sai Baba
Life is endless, not punctuated by nights, days, months and years - for all are one, in the eternal stream.
Dear Sweetheart, Without you my days are endless. Days seem like weeks... Weeks feel like months... Months like years... Years like centuries... Centuries like... You get the idea.
Since I retired to Cold Mountain I've lived by eating mountain fruits What is there to worry about? Life passes according to karma The months pass like a flowing stream Days and nights like sparks from flint Heaven and earth endlessly change While I sit happily among these cliffs
Oh! how the hours hasten to change into days, the days into months, the months into years, and those into life's annihilation!
In the eternal lazy morning of the Pacific, days slip away into months, months into years; the seasons are reduced to the faintest nuance by the great central fact of the sunshine; one might pass a lifetime, it seems, between two yawns, lying bronzed and naked in the sand.
Florentina Ariza had kept his answer ready for fifty-three years, seven months and eleven days and nights. 'Forever,' he said.
A month of days, a year of months, 20 years of months in the treadmill, is the life that slays everything worthy of the name of life.
Many times I've called for Marius, but there was no answer. Just the endless procession of days, months, years... My teacher left me to my darkest lesson, that in the end, we are alone, and there is nothing but the cold, dark wasteland of eternity.
After chatting happily to people all morning in my professional life, I prefer to spend quiet nights in, punctuated only by the occasional grunted demand for food from a passing teenager.
There is a Life Stream that flows to you, and this is a Stream of clarity, a Stream of wellness, a Stream of abundance - and in any moment, you are allowing it or not. What someone else does with the Stream, or not, does not have anything to do with how much of it will be left for you.
One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.
You will always miss her. There will be days - even years from now - when the missing will be so sharp it will take your breath away. But there will be good days, too, months and years of them. In one way or another you'll be searching for her all your life.
All nights are sacred nights to make confession and resolve and prayer; all days are sacred days to wake new gladness in the sunny air.
The early days of any relationship are punctuated with a series of firsts - first sight, first words, first laugh, first kiss, first nudity, etc., with these shared landmarks becoming more widely spaced and innocuous as days turn to years, until eventually you're left with first visit to a National Trust property or some such.
This is days and days and months and years and all the minutes in between, just you me.
You often say ; I would give , but only to the deserving, The trees in your orchard say not so , nor the flocks in your pasture. Surely he who is worthy to receive his days and nights is worthy of all else from you. And he who has deserved to drink from the ocean of life deserves to fill his cup from your little stream. See first that youyourself deserve to be a giver , and an insturument of giving. For in truth it is life that gives unto life-while you , who deem yourself a giver , is but a witness.
Our lives are one endless stretch of misery punctuated by processed fast foods and the occasional crisis or amusing curiosity.
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