For If You Bake Bread With Indifference,

Money Is Like Love; It Kills Slowly And Painfully The One Who Withholds It, And Enlivens The Other Who Turns It On His Fellow Man.

You Cannot Lay Remorse Upon The Innocent Nor Lift It From The Heart Of The Guilty. Unbidden Shall It Call In The Night, That Men May Wake And Gaze Upon Themselves.

Work Is Love Made Visible. And If You Cannot Work With Love But Only With Distaste, 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.

Yet The Timeless In You Is Aware Of Life's Timelessness, And Knows That Yesterday Is But Today's Memory And Tomorrow Is Today's Dream. And That That Which Sings And Contemplates In You Is Still Dwelling Within The Bounds Of That First Moment Which Scattered The Stars Into Space. Who Among You Does Not Feel That His Power To Love Is Boundless? And Yet Who Does Not Feel That Very Love, Though Boundless, Encompassed Within The Centre Of His Being, And Moving Not From Love Thought To Love Thought, Nor From Love Deeds To Other Love Deeds? And Is Not Time Even As Love Is, Undivided And Paceless?

You Are A Flower Crushed Beneath The Feet Of The Animal That Is Concealed In A Human Being. Take Comfort, In That You Are The Flower Crushed And Not The Foot That Has Crushed It.