All that you see was and is for your sake. The numerous books, uncanny markings, and beautiful thoughts are the ghosts of souls who preceded you.

The wind may blow and then cease, and the sea shall swell and then weary, but the heart of life is a sphere quiet and serene, and the star that shines therein is fixed for evermore.

In my thought there is only one universal religion, whose varied paths are but the fingers of the loving hand of the Supreme Being.

Some find Lebanese poet Kahlil Gibran’s poetry preachy and moralizing, but I find it plenty enlightening—it’s hard to object to the melodic, cosmic of mysticism of a line like ‘That which sings and contemplates in you is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which scattered the stars into space.’

The seasons shall tire and the years grow old, ere they exhaust these words: “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.

I'm not too much of a wild guy. I'm all about work, I'm all about studio.

I know faces, because I look through the fabric my own eye weaves, and behold the reality beneath.