When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.
Oh heart, if one should say to you that the soul perishes like the body, answer that the flower withers, but the seed remains.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Much of your pain is self-chosen. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self. Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility: For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen, And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.
The person you consider ignorant and insignificant is the one who came from God, that he might learn bliss from grief and knowledge from gloom.
Sadness is but a wall between two gardens.
And you would accept the seasons of your heart just as you have always accepted that seasons pass over your fields and you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.
You shall be free indeed when your days are not without a care, nor your nights without a want and a grief, but rather when these things girdle your life and yet you rise above them naked and unbound.
When you are sorrowful, look again.
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