The Feeder of wolves fell, worker of evil deeds. The poet chopped Ljot’s leg off, I brought Fridgeir peace. I do not ask reward from the splasher of gold for that. The spears’ din was fun enough, the fight with the pale man. -from “Egil’s Saga”

Though thou pour the ocean into thy pitcher, It can hold no more than one day’s store. The pitcher of the desire of the covetous never fills, The oyster-shell fills not with pearls till it is content; Only he whose garment is rent by the violence of love Is wholly pure from covetousness and sin. Hail to thee, then, O LOVE, sweet madness! Thou who healest all our infirmities! Who art the physician of our pride and self-conceit! Who art our Plato and our Galen! Love exalts our earthly bodies to heaven, And makes the very hills to dance with joy! Rumi, The Masnavi I Manavi of Rumi Complete 6 Books

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