Pain is a treasure, for it contains mercies.
The kernel is soft when the rind is scraped off.
Oh brother, the place of darkness and cold is
the fountain of life in the cup of ecstasy.
So also is endurance of pain and sickness and disease.
For from abasement proceeds exultation.
The spring seasons are hidden in the autumns.
And the autumns are charged with springs.
― Rumi
