Paradise is at your own center; unless you find it there, there is no way to enter.

A rose is but a rose, it blooms because it blooms; it thinks not of itself, nor asks if it is seen.

Love is difficult, because loving is not enough: We must, like God, ourselves be Love.

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

Don't think that some tomorrow you'll see God's Light. You see it now or err in darkest night.

The one awakened liberated sees all things as one unseparated.

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.