Our tree became the talking tree of the fairy tale; legends and stories nestled like birds in its branches. - Willa Cather

Oh, that's the beauty of the rose, that it blossoms and dies.

Her voice had a peculiarly engaging quality; it was deep, a little husky, and one always heard the breath vibrating behind it. Everything she said seemed to come right out of her heart.

In other searchings it might be the object of the quest that brought satisfaction, or it might be something incidental that one got on the way; but in religion, desire was fulfilment, it was the seeking itself that rewarded.