The Envier Praises Me Unknowingly.

Men Would Bless You Or Curse You; The Curse, A Protest Against Failure, The Blessing, A Hymn Of The Hunter Who Comes Back From The Hills With Provision For His Mate.

Am I A Harp That The Hand Of The Mighty May Touch Me, Or A Flute That His Breath May Pass Through Me? A Seeker Of Silences Am I, And What Treasure Have I Found In Silences That I May Dispense With Confidence?

Sayings Remain Meaningless Until They Are Embodied In Habits.

I Have Never Agreed With My Other Self Wholly. The Truth Of The Matter Seems To Lie Between Us.

Love... It Surrounds Every Being And Extends Slowly To Embrace All That Shall Be.