He woke her then, and trembling and obedient, she ate that burning heart out of his hand. Weeping, I saw him then depart from me. Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for her? Find nourishment in the very sight of her? I think so. But would she see through the bars of his plight, and ache for him?
Heat cannot be separated from fire, or beauty from The Eternal.
He who knows most grieves most for wasted time.
He loves but little who can say and count in words how much he loves.
He listens well who takes notes.
He who best discerns the worth of time is most distressed whenever time is lost.