Everyone Is Overridden By Thoughts;

Finding Faults Is For Those With Tired Minds.

The Fluteplayer Puts Breath Into A Flute, And Who Makes The Music? Not The Flute. The Fluteplayer!

When I Die, I Shall Soar With Angels, And When I Die To The Angels, What I Shall Become You Cannot Imagine.

The Fault Is In The One Who Blames. Spirit Sees Nothing To Criticize.

Tis Easy To Break An Idol, Very Easy: To Regard The Self As Easy To Subdue Is Folly, Folly.