Christ could be born a thousand times in Bethlehem - but all in vain until He is born in me.

The Rose which here on earth is now perceived by me, has blossomed thus in god from all eternity.

The Rose is without 'why'—she blooms because she blooms.

The rose does not have a why; it blossums without reason, forgetful of self and oblivious to our vision.

Springtime is at hand. When will you ever bloom, if not here and now?

Nothing can throw thee into the infernal abyss so much as this detested word - heed well! - this mine and thine.

If Christ were born in Bethlehem a thousand times and not in thee thyself; then art thou lost eternally.