When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Life has two halves: one patient and one afire. Love is the fiery half. Make me, O Lord, food for the flames.

And you would accept the seasons of your heart just as you have always accepted that seasons pass over your fields and you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

Hallow the body as a temple to comeliness and sanctify the heart as a sacrifice to love; love recompenses the adorers.

The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the same well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven? And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

Perhaps a man may commit suicide in self-defense.