O son, thou hast not true humility, The highest virtue, mother of them all; But her thou hast not know; for what is this? Thou thoughtest of thy prowess and thy sins Thou hast not lost thyself to save thyself.
Tis held that sorrow makes us wise.
Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.
Silence, beautiful voice.
That which we are, we are.
Nor is he the wisest man who never proved himself a fool.