The river was beautiful and wise. There were the two of them being happy in a new way. For here, there was no man, no woman, no master, no yellow, no black, no white. We, we who were, we are the same no longer.
All bowmen are caught between heaven and earth, born to discovery, choosing to love and raise their eyes high to a future that is apparent only through the strength of their hope.
There is a river whose streams make glad the city of Love. Along that river is the tree of heaven.
You are the apple of Love’s eye.
Sometimes there were troubles but no one can be a hero without the heart being torn open.
Heroes do not dwell in a time of peace; heroes are hardened in a kiln against the sorrows. Their troubles sharpen the blade and make it gleaming. The glint becomes a brightness that is raised high on a hill, allowing women and men to see beyond thems...
There will always be trouble so there will always be a time for heroes
For our hope in the future is cosmic, forging human history into eternity.
The Music blows wherever Music pleases, you hear it’s sound, but you cannot tell where the Music comes from or where the Music is going.
Every time, Love pushed down the door where her loneliness lived. The Music came and sealed the chamber of her heart. She was filled with clear sweetness that was there from the start.
Oh come, ‘though you have broken your promises a hundred times…Come home, stranger and alien, come home to me….Come home, space traveler, lover of leaving for I am here...
In the river swam the gleaming fish, which were meant for water, just as humankind is meant for love.
For in the sorrow, there is also our happiness.
We are strangers to our own lives, setting out in the dark to look for the adobe of Love which we were meant to know, guided by the Music that wants us to see.
Through science, she could reach anyone at anytime around the world, but no one seemed to know what to say.
The breeze carried the music into the distant country plains, past the bullet trains, across the majestic cornfields and the Christmas tree farms. The music swept past the Georgia orange trees, the droning honeybees, and the shining seas of the Atlan...
The marriage bond is more than a civil contract. It is a reward for loving well.
It was a love that was not a contract but an affection of the soul.
