Thy Return is as another Sun to Heaven; a new Rose blooming in the Garden of the Soul.

I came like Water, and like Wind I go.

A drink is shorter than a tale

I can’t reveal the mystery to either saint or sinner; I can’t state at length what I’ve said curtly; I achieve an altered state that I can’t explain; I have a secret that I cannot share.

The moving finger writes; and having writ, moves on.

When I want to understand what is happening today or try to decide what will happen tomorrow, I look back.

To-day is thine to spend, but not to-morrow; Counting on morrows breedeth bankrupt sorrow: O squander not this breath that Heaven hath lent thee; Make not too sure another breath to borrow.