To Argue Over Who Is

Life Is A Night Spent In An Uncomfortable Inn.

Untilled Ground, However Rich, Will Bring Forth Thistles And Thorns; So Also The Mind Of Man.

The Best Thing Must Be To Flee From All To The All.

A Beginner Must Look On Himself As One Setting Out To Make A Garden For His Lord's Pleasure, On Most Unfruitful Soil Which Abounds In Weeds. His Majesty Roots Up The Weeds And Will Put In Good Plants Instead. Let Us Reckon That This Is Already Done When The Soul Decides To Practice Prayer And Has Begun To Do So.

The Soul Of The Just Man Is But A Paradise, In Which, God Tells Us, He Takes His Delight. What Do You Imagine, Must That Dwelling Be In Which A King So Mighty, So Wise, And So Pure, Containing In Himself All Good, Can Delight To Rest? Nothing Can Be Compared To The Great Beauty And Capabilities Of A Soul; However Keen Our Intellects May Be, They Are As Unable To Comprehend Them As To Comprehend God, For, As He Told Us, He Created Us In His Own Image And Likeness.