Sadness is but a wall between two gardens.

Work with love, it is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart.

For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction.

And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered. For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly.

And if you cannot work with love but only with distate, it is better that you should leave your work and sit at the gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy.

It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth.

A man's true wealth is the good he does in the world.