A Root Is A Flower That Disdains

When You Part From Your Friend, You Grieve Not; For That Which You Love Most In Him May Be Clearer In His Absence, As The Mountain To The Climber Is Clearer From The Plain.

And How Shall You Punish Those Whose Remorse Is Already Greater Than Their Misdeeds?

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?

Strange That We All Defend Our Wrongs With More Vigor Than We Do Our Rights.

Love Is Quivering Happiness.