Traveler, There Is No Path,

Beware Of The Community In Which Blasphemy Does Not Exist: Underneath, Atheism Runs Rampant.

The Unpublished Manuscript Is Like An Uncon-fessed Sin That Festers In The Soul, Corrupting And Contaminating It.

Pathmaker, There Is No Path; You Make The Path By Walking, By Walking You Make The Path

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?

The Deepest Words Of The Wise Man Teach Us The Same As The Whistle Of The Wind When It Blows Or The Sound Of The Water When It Is Flowing.