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

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

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.

Become placeless, for to change this place of water and clay is but to move from one prison to another.

Peace is in proportion to every pause: observe the difference between to run, to walk, to stand, to sit, to lie, to die.

What does it profit you that all the libraries of the world should be yours? Not knowledge but what one does with knowledge is your profit.

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