For A Love To Grow Through The

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

Tears Have Cleansed My Eyes, And Errors Have Taught Me The Language Of The Hearts.

Our God, Who Art Our Winged Self, It Is Thy Will In Us That Willeth. It Is Thy Desire In Us That Desireth. It Is Thy Urge In Us That Would Turn Our Nights, Which Are Thine, Into Days Which Are Thine Also. We Cannot Ask Thee For Aught, For Thou Knowest Our Needs Before They Are Born In Us: Thou Art Our Need; And In Giving Us More Of Thyself Thou Givest Us All.

The Teacher Gives Not Of His Wisdom, But Rather Of His Faith And Lovingness.

The Strong Grows In Solitude Where The Weak Withers Away.