He Who Kisses Joy As It Flies

O White-robed Angel, Guide My Timorous Hand To Write As On A Lofty Rock With Iron Pen The Words Of Truth, That All Who Pass May Read.

Those Who Restrain Desire, Do So Because Theirs Is Weak Enough To Be Restrained.

The Apple Tree Never Asks The Beech How He Shall Grow, Nor The Lion, The Horse, How He Shall Take His Prey.

There Is A Place Where Contrarieties Are Equally True.

Excessive Sorrow Laughs. Excessive Joy Weeps.