Love is the scent with the lotus born. It is the silent choirs of petals singing winter’s harmony of uniform beauty. Love is the song of the soul, singing to God. It is the balanced rhythmic dance of planets – sun and moonlit.
The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, but wiser people so full of doubts.
O soul, you worry too much. You have seen your own strength. You have seen your own beauty. You have seen your golden wings. Of anything less, why do you worry? You are in truth the soul, of the soul, of the soul.
Both the good and the pleasant present themselves to a man. The calm soul examines them well and discriminates. Yes, he prefers the good to the pleasant; but the fool chooses the pleasant out of greed and avarice.
