Hallow the body as a temple to comeliness and sanctify the heart as a sacrifice to love; love recompenses the adorers.
If my survival caused another to perish, then death would be sweeter and more beloved.
They consider me to have sharp and penetrating vision because I see them through the mesh of a sieve.
Knowledge cultivates your seeds and does not sow in your seeds.
When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music. Which of you would be a reed, dumb and silent, when all else sings together in unison?
Would that I were a dry well, and that the people tossed stones into me, for that would be easier than to be a spring of flowing water that the thirsty pass by, and from which they avoid drinking.
No human relation gives one possession in another – every two souls are absolutely different. In friendship or in love, the two side by side raise hands together to find what one cannot reach alone.
Much of your pain is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.
In the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures. For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.
If you reveal your secrets to the wind, you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees.
Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.
A woman whom Providence has provided with beauty of spirit and body is a truth, at the same time both open and secret, which we can understand only by love, and touch only by virtue.
Advance, and never halt, for advancing is perfection. Advance and do not fear the thorns in the path, for they draw only corrupt blood.
I wash my hands of those who imagine chattering to be knowledge, silence to be ignorance, and affection to be art.
Your daily life is your temple and your religion. When you enter into it take with you your all.
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.
Love is trembling happiness.
Yes, there is a Nirvanah; it is leading your sheep to a green pasture, and in putting your child to sleep, and in writing the last line of your poem.
They deem me mad because I will not sell my days for gold; and I deem them mad because they think my days have a price.
For if you bake bread with indifference, you bake a bitter bread that feeds but half man’s hunger.