Real Beauty Lies In The Spiritual Accord

Much Of Your Pain Is The Bitter Potion By Which The Physician Within You Heals Your Sick Self.

For That Which Is Boundless In You Abides In The Mansion Of The Sky, Whose Door Is The Morning Mist, And Whose Windows Are The Songs And The Silences Of Night.

Your Freedom When It Loses Its Fetters Becomes Itself The Fetter Of A Greater Freedom.

Love Is A Sacred Mystery. To Those Who Love, It Remains Forever Wordless; But To Those Who Do Not Love, It May Be But A Heartless Jest.

O Love, Whose Lordly Hand Has Bridled My Desires, And Raised My Hunger And My Thirst To Dignity And Pride, Let Not The Strong In Me And The Constant Eat The Bread Or Drink The Wine That Tempt My Weaker Self. Let Me Rather Starve, And Let My Heart Parch With Thirst, And Let Me Die And Perish, Ere I Stretch My Hand To A Cup You Did Not Fill, Or A Bowl You Did Not Bless.