I've said before that every craftsman searches for what's not there to practice his craft.
Don't be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth.
There is a morning inside you waiting to burst open into light.
Play the flute of felicity! You, yourself, are the melody.
I am so small I can hardly be seen. How can this great love be inside me? Look at your eyes. They are small, but they see enormous things.
He who tastes not, knows not.