The Lamps Are Different, But The Light

Don’t Knock On Any Random Door Like A Beggar. Reach Your Long Hand Out To Another Door, Beyond Where You Go On The Street, The Street Where Everyone Says, "how Are You?" And No One Says How Aren’t You?

When Someone Is Counting Out Gold For You, Don't Look At Your Hands, Or The Gold. Look At The Giver.

The Pure Heart Is A Spotless Mirror In Which Images Of Infinite Beauty Are Reflected.

And Don't Think The Garden Loses Its Ecstasy In Winter. It's Quiet, But The Roots Are Down There Riotous.

Revile Those Who Flatter You.