And is not the lute that soothes your spirit the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond.

You shall not dwell in tombs made by the dead for the living.

Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?

When life does not find a singer to sing her heart she produces a philosopher to speak her mind.

He who understands you is greater kin to you than your own brother. For even your own kindred neither understand you nor know your true worth.

We are limited, not by our abilities, but by our vision.