If you desire healing, let yourself fall ill let yourself fall ill.
The ground submits to the sky and suffers whatever comes. Tell me, is the Earth worse for giving in like that?
Play the flute of felicity! You, yourself, are the melody.
To wander in the fields of flowers, pull the thorns from your heart.
Paradise is surrounded by what we dislike; the fires of hell are surrounded by what we desire.
Tender words we spoke to one another are sealed in the secret vaults of heaven. One day like rain, they will fall to earth and grow green all over the world.