The world is a playground, and death is the night.
There is a secret medicine given only to those who hurt so hard they can't hope. The hopers would feel slighted if they knew.
Love is the soul's light, the taste of morning, no me, no we, no claim of being.
The ocean of the body crashes against the ocean of the heart. Between them is a barrier they cannot cross.
Work in the invisible world at least as hard as you do in the visible.
What is planted in each person's soul will sprout.