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

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

What is outside yourself does not convey much worth; Clothes do not make the man, the saddle not the horse.

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

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

By the will art thou lost, by the will art thou found, by the will art thou free, captive, and bound.

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