The Images We Create Could

Raise Your Words, Not Your Voice.

Burdens Are The Foundations Of Ease And Bitter Things The Forerunners Of Pleasure.

Come, Come, Whoever You Are. Wanderer, Worshiper, Lover Of Leaving. It Doesn't Matter. Ours Is Not A Caravan Of Despair. Come, Even If You Have Broken Your Vows A Thousand Times. Come, Yet Again, Come, Come.

Play The Flute Of Felicity! You, Yourself, Are The Melody.

You Fill Yourself With The Sharp Pain Of Love, Rather Than Its Fulfillment.