In The Faint Moonlight, The Grass Is

Love Compels Cruelty To Those Who Do Not Understand Love.

I Say To You: Make Perfect Your Will. / I Say: Take No Thought Of The Harvest, / But Only Of Proper Sowing.

What Is This Self-inside Us, This Silent Observer, Severe And Speechless Critic, Who Can Terrorize Us, And Urge Us Onto Futile Activity, And In The End, Judge Us Still More Severely For The Errors Into Which His Own Reproaches Drove Us?

Anxiety Is The Hand Maiden Of Creativity.

We Do Not Pass Twice Through The Same Door Or Return To The Door Through Which We Did Not Pass.