Om Is The Bow, The

A Magic Dwells In Each Beginning, Protecting Us, Telling Us How To Live.

My Resolve To Die Was Not The Whim Of An Hour. It Was The Ripe, Sound Fruit That Had Slowly Grown To Full Size, Lightly Rocked By The Winds Of Fate Whose Next Breath Would Bring It To The Ground.

What You Call Passion Is Not Spiritual Force, But Friction Between The Soul And The Outside World.

But It's A Poor Fellow Who Can't Take His Pleasure Without Asking Other People's Permission.

Without A Mother, One Cannot Love. Without A Mother, One Cannot Die.