We cross infinity with every step; we meet eternity in every second.
The hours trip rapidly away, hiding their dreams in their skirts.
The earth paints a portrait of the sun at dawn with sunflowers in bloom. Unhappy with the portrait, she erases it and paints it again and again.
Boasting is only a masked shame; it does not truly believe in itself.
He who wants to do good knocks at the gate: he who loves finds the door open.
Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger.