For the sight of the angry weather saddens my soul and the sight of the town, sitting like a bereaved mother beneath layers of ice, oppresses my heart.
You cannot laugh and be unkind at the same time.
And that which sings and contemplates in you is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which scattered the stars into space.
For what is prayer but the expansion of your self into the living ether?
Your house shall be not an anchor but a mast It shall not be a glistening film that covers a wound, but an eyelid that guards the eye.
That which seems most feeble and bewildered in you is the strongest and most determined. Is it not your breath that has erected and hardened the structure of your bones?
It was in my heart to help a little because I was helped much.
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts; And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime. And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered.
He who wears his morality but as his best garment were better naked. The wind and the sun will tear no holes in his skin.
Your soul is oftentimes a battlefield, upon your reason and your judgment wage war against your passion and your appetite.
The most wonderful thing, Mary, is that you and I are always walking together, hand in hand, in a strangely beautiful world, unknown to other people. We both stretch one hand to receive from Life – and Life is generous indeed.
And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may livethrough its own daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes.
And as a single leaf turns not yellow but with the silent knowledge of the whole tree.
Your friend is your needs answered. He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving. And he is your board and your fireside. For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.
I am forever walking upon these shores, Betwixt the sand and the foam, The high tide will erase my food prnts, And the wind will blow away the foam, But the sea and the shore will remain forver.
But memory is an autumn leaf that murmurs a while in the wind and then is heard no more.
And one of the elders of the city, said, speak to us of good and evil. And he answered : You are good in countless ways, and you are not evil when you are not good .
It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands.
For love is sufficient unto love.