". . . it seemed to me that where others had prayed before to their God, in their joy or in their agony, was of itself a sacred place."

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The song I came to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument. The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only there is the agony of wishing in my heart . . .

— Rabindranath Tagore