A saint who thinks he is a saint is no longer a saint.

, by Kartavirya
  • Confession

    She, my Belovèd, is a wondrous day;
    And I, who love Her, I am life and death
    And storm and lightning, and my word is wine;
    The world lies in my blood and in my breath.

    O thou who seekest me, do never ask
    Which is my homeland, nor what is my name;
    The Universe is made of Light and Love,
    And from this Light and from this Love I came.

    - Frithjof Shuon