The flower which is single need not envy the thorns that are numerous.
God finds himself by creating.
We gain freedom when we have paid the full price...
The traveller in the read-brown clothes that he wears that dust may not show upon him, the girl searching in her bed for the petals fallen from the wreath of her royal lover, the servant or the bride awaiting the master's home-coming in the empty house, are images of the heart turning to God.
The music of the far-away summer flutters around the Autumn seeking its former nest.
Wherever our heart touches the One, in the small or the big, it finds the touch of the infinite.