Do not imagine that the work of the Wine-maker is complete. With unknown quantities of undrunk wine the vine is still replete.

The garden is a happy place, but you cannot survive as buds in it for long; the breeze will come and tear your being’s robe to shreds.

If you possess the faintest knowledge of life’s awesome mystery, then do not seek a heart entirely free from longing’s agony.

Be like a mountain, grave and lofty, with your native dignity, and not like straw. Beware, there is a wildfire raging savagely.