There Are A Lot Of

The Wind, One Brilliant Day, Called To My Soul With An Odor Of Jasmine. "in Return For The Odor Of My Jasmine, I'd Like All The Odor Of Your Roses." "i Have No Roses; All The Flowers In My Garden Are Dead." "well Then, I'll Take The Withered Petals And The Yellow Leaves And The Waters Of The Fountain." The Wind Left. And I Wept. And I Said To Myself: "what Have You Done With The Garden That Was Entrusted To You?

There Is No One So Bound To His Own Face That He Does Not Cherish The Hope Of Presenting Another To The World.

Between Living And Dreaming There Is A Third Thing. Guess It.

Death Is Something We Shouldn't Fear Because, While We Are, Death Isn't, And When Death Is, We Aren't.

My Soul Is Not Asleep. It Is Awake, Wide Awake. It Neither Sleeps Nor Dreams, But Watches, Its Eyes Wide Open Far-off Things, And Listens At The Shores Of The Great Silence.