They hated and killed and men praised them.

But God in shame hastens to hide its memory under the green grass.

This world is the world of wild storms kept tame with the music of beauty.

Let my doing nothing when I have nothing to do become untroubled in its

depth of peace like the evening in the seashore when the water is silent.

The best does not come alone.

It comes with the company of the all.

Let him only see the thorns who has eyes to see the rose.

The night's silence, like a deep lamp, is burning with the light of its milky way.

Wayside grass, love the star, then your dreams will come out in flowers.

Let your music, like a sword, pierce the noise of the market to its heart.

Truth raises against itself the storm that scatters its seeds broadcast.