A craftsman pulled a reed from the reedbed, cut holes in it, and called it a human being. Since then, it's been wailing a tender agony of parting, never mentioning the skill that gave it life as a flute

O, happy the soul that saw its own faults.

Some nights stay up till dawn, as the moon sometimes does for the sun. Be a full bucket pulled up the dark way of a well, then lifted out into light.

There is a King Who is aware of every Mask you put on

Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment. Cleverness is mere opinion. Bewilderment brings intuitive knowledge.

Listen to the unstruck sounds, and what sifts through that music.

The breath of the flute player: does it belong to the flute?