Our Pain Carves Out A

And Ever Has It Been Known That Love Knows Not Its Own Depth Until The Hour Of Separation.

Wisdom Ceases To Be Wisdom When It Becomes Too Proud To Weep, Too Grave To Laugh, And Too Selfish To Seek Other Than Itself.

For Life And Death Are One, Even As The River And The Sea Are One.

Seven Times Have I Despised My Soul: The Sixth Time When She Despised The Ugliness Of A Face, And Knew Not That It Was One Of Her Own Masks.

Tolerance Is Love Sick With The Sickness Of Haughtiness.