If There Were No Way Into God,

Every Moment A Taste Of That Beauty In Our Mouths, Another Stashed In A Pocket. Impossible To Say What: No Cypress So Handsome, No Sunlight, A Lonely Hiddenness. Other Pleasure Gathers A Crowd, Starts A Fight, Lots Of Noise There. But Soul Beauty Stays Quiet..his Amazing Whereabouts Unknown Inside My Heart.

The Mirror Of The Heart Must Be Clear, So You Can Discern The Ugly From The Beautiful.

Everyone Has Been Made For Some Particular Work, And The Desire For That Work Has Been Put In Every Heart.

Botha Swimmer And A Drowned Man Are In The Water; The Latter Is Borne By The Water And Controlled By It, While The Swimmer Is Borne Along By His Own Power And Of His Own Volition. Every Movement Made By The Drowned Man - Indeed, Every Act And Word That Issue From Him - Comes From The Water, Not From Him... The Saints Are Like This. They Have Died Before Death.

Nothing Can Nourish The Soul But Light. Rid Yourself Of Material Needs And Be Set Free.