You work that you may keep peace with the earth and the soul of the earth.

Your body is the harp of the soul.

For the vision of one man lends not its wings to another man.

For the sight of the angry weather saddens my soul and the sight of the town, sitting like a bereaved mother beneath layers of ice, oppresses my heart.

Let your bending in the Archer's hand be for gladness, for even as he loves the arrow that flies, so he loves also the bow that is stable.

To belittle, you have to be little.

Thus with my lips have I denounced you, while my heart, bleeding within me, called you tender names. It was love lashed by its own self that spoke. It was pride half slain that fluttered in the dust. It was my hunger for your love that raged from the housetop, while my own love, kneeling in silence, prayed your forgiveness.