The ardent longing in our hearts – where does it come from? Ours is the tumbler, but the wine within – where does it come from?

I know that this world is mere dust, and that we, too, are a handful of dust. But this pain of quest that runs through our being – where does it come from?

Our glances reach the neckline of the Galaxy; this obsession of ours, this tumult and clamor – where does it come from?