La terre qui reçoit la graine est triste. La graine qui va tant risquer est heureuse.
La perte du croyant, c'est de rencontrer son église.
On naît avec les hommes, on meurt inconsolé parmi les dieux.
Imite le moins possible les hommes dans leur énigmatique maladie de faire des nœuds.
Écoute, mais n'entends pas.
La perte du croyant, c'est de rencontrer son église.
Il faut être l'homme de la pluie et l'enfant du beau temps.
© 2026 My French LLC
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