Make My Heart, O Heart Of The

The Sweetness And Delights Of The Resting-place Are In Proportion To The Pain Endured On The Journey. Only When You Suffer The Pangs And Tribulations Of Exile Will You Truly Enjoy Your Homecoming.

Raise Your Words, Not Voice. It Is Rain That Grows Flowers, Not Thunder.

Every Love Outside Of His Love, Is Pain.

Where There Is Ruin, There Is Hope For A Treasure.

In Fact, My Soul And Yours Are The Same, You Appear In Me, I In You.