Like the seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.
you can muffle the drum, and you can loosen the strings of the lyre, but who shall command the skylark not to sing?
Tortoises can tell you more about the road than hares.
I wash my hands of those who imagine chattering to be knowledge, silence to be ignorance, and affection to be art.
One may not reach the dawn save by path of night.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, so shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.