Let Me, O Let Me Bathe My

When I Planted My Pain In The Field Of Patience It Bore Fruit Of Happiness.

What Difference Is There Between Us, Save A Restless Dream That Follows My Soul But Fears To Come Near You?

Would That I Were A Dry Well, And That The People Tossed Stones Into Me, For That Would Be Easier Than To Be A Spring Of Flowing Water That The Thirsty Pass By, And From Which They Avoid Drinking.

The Best Of Man Is He Who Blushes When You Praise Him And Remains Silent When You Defame Him.

Art Is A Step In The Known Toward The Unknown