Our worst fault is our preoccupation with the faults of others.

The obvious is that which is never seen until someone expresses it simply.

He alone is great who turns the voice of the wind into a song made sweeter by his own loving.

Have you not heard of the man who was digging in the earth for roots and found a treasure?

The poet is a bird of strange moods. He descends from his lofty domain to tarry among us, singing; if we do not honor him he will unfold his wings and fly back to his dwelling place.

Oh heart, if one should say to you that the soul perishes like the body, answer that the flower withers, but the seed remains.

To be closer to god, be closer to people.