For What Is It To Die But

A Root Is A Flower That Disdains Fame.

I Purified My Lips With Sacred Fire That I Might Speak Of Love, But When I Opened My Mouth To Speak, I Found Myself Mute.

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.

Much Of Your Pain Is Self-chosen.

Wisdom Ceases To Be Wisdom When It Becomes Too Proud To Weep, Too Grave To Laugh, And Too Selfish To Seek Other Than Itself.