When We Turn To One Another For

It Is Slavery To Live In The Mind Unless It Has Become Part Of The Body

These Things He Said In Words. But Much In His Heart Remained Unsaid. For He Himself Could Not Speak His Deeper Secret.

Am I A Harp That The Hand Of The Mighty May Touch Me, Or A Flute That His Breath May Pass Through Me? A Seeker Of Silences Am I, And What Treasure Have I Found In Silences That I May Dispense With Confidence?

The Longing For Paradise Is Paradise Itself.

You Often Say, "i Would Give, But Only To The Deserving." The Trees In Your Orchard Say Not So, Nor The Flocks In Your Pasture. They Give That They May Live, For To Withhold Is To Perish.