“Don't let despair mutate your fleshLook at my twisted stumps of thoughtSee the fingers, listen to the voiceI am slowly becoming the end of the line.”

“I wonderfrom these thousand of "me's",which one am I?Listen to my cry, do not drown my voiceI am completely filled with the thought of you.Don't lay broken glass on my pathI will crush it into dust.I am nothing, just a mirror in the palm of your hand,reflecting your kindness, your sadness, your anger.If you were a blade of grass or a tiny flowerI will pitch my tent in your shadow.Only your presence revives my withered heart.You are the candle that lights the whole worldand I am an empty vessel for your light. Rumi - "Hidden Music”

“Now that lilacs are in bloomShe has a bowl of lilacs in her roomAnd twists one in her fingers while she talks."Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not knowWhat life is, you who hold it in your hands"; (slowly twisting the lilac stalks)"You let it flow from you, you let it flow,And youth is cruel, and has no remorseAnd smiles at situations which it cannot see."I smile, of course,And go on drinking tea.”

“And so, pointing fingers become pointing guns, because nobody listens to fingers.”

“Don't you worry about that, Mr. Adamsson. Why don't you head back to Reykjavik and spend some of that extortionate fee you charged me for a couple of hours' usage of your frankly third-rate restaurant and perhaps find a friendless tree stump to listen to your woes?”

“Don't let your loophole become your noose.”