And Is Not Time Even As Love

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.

Your Friend Is Your Needs Answered.

There Are Those Who Give With Joy, And That Joy Is Their Reward.

Behind The Veil Of Each Night, There Is A Smilling Dawn.

For Thought Is A Bird Of Space, That In A Cage Of Words May Indeed Unfold Its Wings But Cannot Fly.