Life Is A Flower Of Which Love

Thus, During Those Nineteen Years Of Torture And Slavery, Did This Soul Rise And Fall At The Same Time. Light Entered On The One Side, And Darkness On The Other.

I Love All Men Who Think, Even Those Who Think Otherwise Than Myself.

We May Remark In Passing That To Be Blind And Beloved May, In This World Where Nothing Is Perfect, Be Among The Most Strangely Exquisite Forms Of Happiness. The Supreme Happiness In Life Is The Assurance Of Being Loved; Of Being Loved For Oneself, Even In Spite Of Oneself; And This Assurance The Blind Man Possesses. In His Affliction, To Be Served Is To Be Caressed. Does He Lack Anything? No. Possessing Love He Is Not Deprived Of Light. A Love, Moreover, That Is Wholly Pure. There Can Be No Blindness Where There Is This Certainty.

We Shall Look On Crime As A Disease, And Its Physicians Shall Displace The Judges, Its Hospitals Displace The Galleys. Liberty And Health Shall Be Alike. We Shall Pour Balm And Oil Where We Formerly Applied Iron And Fire; Evil Will Be Treated In Charity, Instead Of In Anger. This Change Will Be Simple And Sublime.

Our Mind Is Enriched By What We Receive, Our Heart By What We Give.