The Sorrowful Spirit Finds Relaxation In Solitude.

Those To Whom Worshiping Is A Window, To Open But Also To Shut, Have Not Yet Visited The House Of Their Souls Whose Windows Are Open From Dawn To Dawn.

And You Would Accept The Seasons Of Your Heart Just As You Have Always Accepted That Seasons Pass Over Your Fields And You Would Watch With Serenity Through The Winters Of Your Grief.

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

When Life Does Not Find A Singer To Sing Her Heart She Produces A Philosopher To Speak Her Mind.

All Our Words Are But Crumbs That Fall Down From The Feast Of The Mind.