And Alone And Without His Nest Shall

No Man Can Reveal To You Nothing But That Which Already Lies Half-asleep In The Dawning Of Your Knowledge.

You May Give Them Your Love But Not Your Thoughts, For They Have Their Own Thoughts. You May House Their Bodies But Not Their Souls, For Their Souls Dwell In The House Of Tomorrow, Which You Cannot Visit, Not Even In Your Dreams.

For Even As Love Crowns You So Shall He Crucify You. Even As He Is For Your Growth So Is He For Your Pruning. Even As He Ascends To Your Height And Caresses Your Tenderest Branches That Quiver In The Sun, So Shall He Descend To Your Roots And Shake Them In Their Clinging To The Earth.

Some Think I Wink At Them When I Shut My Eyes To Avoid Their Sight.

Much Of Your Pain Is Self-chosen. It Is The Bitter Potion By Which The Physician Within You Heals Your Sick Self. Therefore Trust The Physician, And Drink His Remedy In Silence And Tranquility: For His Hand, Though Heavy And Hard, Is Guided By The Tender Hand Of The Unseen, And The Cup He Brings, Though It Burn Your Lips, Has Been Fashioned Of The Clay Which The Potter Has Moistened With His Own Sacred Tears.