The Best Of Man Is He Who

Prayer Is The Song Of The Heart. It Reaches The Ear Of God Even If It Is Mingled With The Cry And The Tumult Of A Thousand Men.

For What Is It To Die But To Stand Naked In The Wind And To Melt Into The Sun? And What Is It To Cease Breathing But To Free The Breath From Its Restless Tides, That It May Rise And Expand And Seek God Unencumbered? Only When You Drink From The River Of Silence Shall You Indeed Sing. And When You Have Reached The Mountaintop,then You Shall Begin To Climb. And When The Earth Shal Claim Your Limbs,then Shall You Truly Dance.

Doubt Is A Pain Too Lonely To Know That Faith Is His Twin Brother. Doubt Is A Foundling Unhappy And Astray, And Though His Own Mother Who Gave Him Birth Should Find Him And Enfold Him, He Would Withdraw In Caution And In Fear.

I Use Hate As A Weapon To Defend Myself; Had I Been Strong, I Would Never Have Needed That Kind Of Weapon.

Hate Is A Dead Thing. Who Of You Would Be A Tomb?