Hell Is Not In Torture; Hell Is

The Mute Grain Turns To Love Songs When Swallowed By The Nightingale.

You Are The Bows From Which Your Children As Living Arrows Are Sent Forth.

You Talk When You Cease To Be At Peace With Your Thoughts.

One May Not Reach The Dawn Save By Path Of Night.

The Truly Good Is He Who Is One With All Those Who Are Deemed Bad.