Sorrow Is One Of The Vibrations That

The Flower You Single Out Is A Rejection Of All Other Flowers; Nevertheless, Only On These Terms Is It Beautiful.

You're Beautiful, But You're Empty...one Couldn't Die For You. Of Course, An Ordinary Passerby Would Think My Rose Looked Just Like You. But My Rose, All On Her Own, Is More Important Than All Of You Together, Since She's The One I've Watered. Since She's The One I Put Under Glass, Since She's The One I Sheltered Behind The Screen. Since She's The One For Whom I Killed The Caterpillars (except The Two Or Three Butterflies). Since She's The One I Listened To When She Complained, Or When She Boasted, Or Even Sometimes When She Said Nothing At All. Since She's My Rose.

It Is Always In The Midst, In The Epicenter, Of Your Troubles That You Find Serenity.

In Giving You Are Throwing A Bridge Across The Chasm Of Your Solitude.

As For The Future, Your Task Is Not To Foresee It, But To Enable It.