The rose is without 'why'; it blooms simply because it blooms. It pays no attention to itself, nor does it ask whether anyone sees it.

God does not care what good you did, but why you did it. He does not grade the fruit but probes the core and tests the root.

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

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

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

I am like God and God like me. I am as large as God. He is as small as I. He cannot above me nor I beneath him be.

The rose is without 'why'; it blooms simply because it blooms. It pays no attention to itself, nor does it ask whether anyone sees it.