Hell is not in torture; Hell is in an empty heart.
Love passes by us, robed in meekness; but we flee from her in fear, or hide in the darkness; or else pursue her, to do evil in her name.
Work is love made visible.
Happiness is a vine that takes root and grows within the heart, never outside it.
You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts.
Poetry is not the opinion stated. It is a song that appears instead of a bloody wound or a smiling mouth.