The Longing For Paradise Is Paradise Itself.

We Wanderers, Ever Seeking The Lonelier Way, Begin No Day Where We Have Ended Another, And No Sunrise Finds Us Where Left By Sunset. Even While The Earth Sleeps We Travel. We Are The Seeds Of That Tenacious Plant, And It Is In Our Ripeness And Our Fullness Of Heart That We Are Given To The Wind To Be Scattered.

You Are Persecuted And Despised. It Were Better That A Person Should Be The Oppressed Than That He Should Be The Oppressor; And Fitter That He Should Be A Victim To The Frailty Of Human Instincts Than That He Should Be Powerful And Crush The Flowers Of Life And Disfigure The Beauties Of Feeling With His Desire.

What Is This World That Is Hastening Me Toward I Know Not What, Viewing Me With Contempt?

Your Children Are Not Your Children. They Are The Sons And Daughters Of Life's Longing For Itself. They Came Through You But Not From You And Though They Are With You Yet They Belong Not To You.

The Reality Of The Other Person Is Not In What He Reveals To You, But In What He Cannot Reveal To You. Therefore, If You Would Understand Him, Listen Not To What He Says But Rather To What He Does Not Say.