The shepherd will deny the diseased lamb in fear of the flock.
And if you sing though as angels, and love not the singing, you muffle man's ears to the voices of the day and the voices of the night.
Often times I have hated in self-defense; if I were stronger I would not have used such a weapon.
But you who walk facing the sun, what images drawn on the earth can hold you?
Wisdom stands at the turn in the road and calls upon us publicly, but we consider it false and despise its adherents.
Between the shores of the oceans and the summit of the highest mountain is a secret route that you must absolutely take before being one with the sons of the Earth.
Saying this, he turned his head toward the window as if he were trying to solve the problems of human existence by concentrating on the beauty of the universe.
The sea that calls all things unto her cals me, and I must embark.
The only time a juggler / Appeals to me / Is when I see him / Miss the ball.
I am the lover's gift; I am the wedding wreath; I am the memory of a moment of happiness; I am the last gift of the living to the dead; I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.
Hate is a dead thing. Who of you would be a tomb?
The brooks flow to their lover, the sea, and the flowers smile at the object of their passion, the light. The mist rolls down to its beloved, the valley. And I? In me is what brooks do not know, what flowers do not hear, what the mist does not apprehend. You see me alone in my love, solitary in my yearning.
A minute moving among the patterns of beauty and the dreams of love is greater and more precious than an age filled with splendor granted by the weak to the strong.
As the strings of a lute are apart though they quiver the same music.
if you cannot but weep when your soul summons you to prayer, she should spur you again and yet again, though weeping, until you shall come laughing
Love is a gracious host to his guests though to the unbidden his house is a mirage and a mockery.
This for God and this for myself; This for my soul, and this other for my body?
Yet has not Man wept at the sounds? And are not his tears eloquent understanding?
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