Much of your pain is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.

Tolerance is love sick with the sickness of haughtiness.

The lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest, and then becomes a host, and then a master.

Strange that we all defend our wrongs with more vigor than we do our rights.

Love prides itself not only in the one who loves, but also in the beloved.

Be like a flower and turn your face to the sun.

And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.