The weeping of the candle is not in mourning for the moth: the dawn is at hand, and it is thinking of its own dark night.

Ten doors are opened if one door be shut: the finger is the interpreter of the dumb man's tongue.

When poison becomes a habit, it ceases to injure: make your soul gradually acquainted with death.

Flowers and fruit are never combined in one place: it is impossible that teeth and delicacies should exist simultaneously.

To the seeker after pearls, silence is a speaking argument, for no breath comes forth from the diver of the sea.

The rosary in the hand, repentance on the lips, and the heart full of sinful longings-sin itself laughs at our repentance!

In this market every head has a different fancy: everyone winds his turban in a different fashion.