Once You Conquer Your Selfish Self, All

In Winter The Bare Boughs That Seem To Sleep Work Covertly, Preparing For Their Spring.

There Is No Love Greater Than Love With No Object. For Then You, Yourself, Have Become Love, Itself.

Although I May Try To Describe Love, When I Experience It, I Am Speechless.

In Silence There Is Eloquence. Stop Weaving And See How The Pattern Improves.

Your Breath Touched My Soul And I Saw Beyond All Limits.