Much Of Your Pain Is Self-chosen.

I Wash My Hands Of Those Who Imagine Chattering To Be Knowledge, Silence To Be Ignorance, And Affection To Be Art.

When A Man's Hand Touches The Hand Of A Woman, They Both Touch The Heart Of Eternity.

Your Clothes Conceal Much Of Your Beauty, Yet They Hide Not The Unbeautiful.

For To Be Idle Is To Become A Stranger Unto The Seasons, And To Step Out Of Life’s Procession That Marches In Majesty And Proud Submission Towards The Infinite.

...unless The Exchange Be In Love And Kindly Justice, It Will But Lead Some To Greed And Others To Hunger.