The Doors Of Heaven And Hell Are

Before Me Is The Abyss. How Can I Leap Across It? And If I Do Not Leap, How Shall I Ever Be Able To Reach God?

Fools, Art Is A Heavy Task, More Heavy Than Gold Crowns; It's Far More Difficult To Match Firm Words Than Armies, They're Disciplined Troops, Unconquered, To Be Placed In Rhythm, The Mind's Most Mighty Foe, And Not Disperse In Air. I'd Give, Believe Me, A Whole Land For One Good Song, For I Know Well That Only Words, That Words Alone, Like The High Mountains, Have No Fear Of Age Or Death.

Overdraw Me, Lord, And Who Cares If I Break.

Whoever Climbed The Lord's Mountain Had To Possess Clean Hands And An Innocent Heart; Otherwise The Summit Would Kill Him. Today The Doorway Is Deserted. Soiled Hands And Sinful Hearts Are Able To Pass By Without Fear, For The Summit Kills No Longer.

True Teachers Are Those Who Use Themselves As Bridges Over Which They Invite Their Students To Cross; Then, Having Facilitated Their Crossing, Joyfully Collapse, Encouraging Them To Create Their Own.