You Work That You May Keep Peace

For That Which Is Boundless In You Abides In The Mansion Of The Sky, Whose Door Is The Morning Mist, And Whose Windows Are The Songs And The Silences Of Night.

When You Work You Are A Flute Through Whose Heart The Whispering Of The Hours Turns To Music. Which Of You Would Be A Reed, Dumb And Silent, When All Else Sings Together In Unison?

Wisdom Stands At The Turn In The Road And Calls Upon Us Publicly, But We Consider It False And Despise Its Adherents.

Love Prides Itself Not Only In The One Who Loves, But Also In The Beloved.

He Who Passes Not His Days In The Realm Of Dreams Is The Slave Of The Days.