One Can Be A Brother Only In

Sitting In The Flickering Light Of The Candles On This Kerchief Of Sand, On This Village Square, We Waited In The Night. We Were Waiting For The Rescuing Dawn - Or For The Moors. Something, I Know Not What, Lent This Night A Savor Of Christmas. We Told Stories, We Joked, We Sang Songs. In The Air There Was That Slight Fever That Reigns Over A Gaily Prepared Feast. And Yet We Were Infinitely Poor. Wind, Sand, And Stars. The Austerity Of Trappists. But On This Badly Lighted Cloth, A Handful Of Men Who Possessed Nothing In The World But Their Memories Were Sharing Invisible Riches.

You're Beautiful, But You're Empty...one Couldn't Die For You. Of Course, An Ordinary Passerby Would Think My Rose Looked Just Like You. But My Rose, All On Her Own, Is More Important Than All Of You Together, Since She's The One I've Watered. Since She's The One I Put Under Glass, Since She's The One I Sheltered Behind The Screen. Since She's The One For Whom I Killed The Caterpillars (except The Two Or Three Butterflies). Since She's The One I Listened To When She Complained, Or When She Boasted, Or Even Sometimes When She Said Nothing At All. Since She's My Rose.

Even Though Human Life May Be The Most Precious Thing On Earth, We Always Behave As If There Were Something Of Higher Value Than Human Life.

If A Composer Suffers From Loss Of Sleep And His Sleeplessness Induces Him To Turn Out Masterpieces, What A Profitable Loss It Is!

Nothing Comes Of Severity If There Be No Leanings Towards A Change Of Heart. And If There Be Natural Leanings Towards A Change Of Heart, What Need For Severity?