The Longing For Paradise Is Paradise Itself.

Beauty Is Not In The Face; Beauty Is A Light In The Heart.

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.

Much Of Your Pain Is Self-chosen.

Work Is Love Made Visible. And If You Cannot Work With Love But Only With Distaste, It Is Better That You Should Leave Your Work And Sit At The Gate Of The Temple And Take Alms Of Those Who Work With Joy.

When Love Beckons To You, Follow Him, Though His Ways Are Hard And Steep. And When His Wings Enfold You Yield To Him, Though The Sword Hidden Among His Pinions May Wound You.