I am as vast as God; there is nothing in the world
O Miracle: that can shut me up in myself.
A rose is but a rose, it blooms because it blooms; it thinks not of itself, nor asks if it is seen.
The rose has no 'Why?' It flowers because it flowers.
Don't think that some tomorrow you'll see God's Light. You see it now or err in darkest night.
The Rose is without 'why'—she blooms because she blooms.
The rose that with you earthly eyes you see, has flowered in God from all eternity.
The rose does not have a why; it blossums without reason, forgetful of self and oblivious to our vision.
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