'Tis writ on Paradise's gate, Woe to the dupe that yields to fate!

People say that the soul, on hearing the song of creation, entered the body, but in reality the soul itself was the song.

On the neck of a young man sparkles no gem so gracious as enterprise.

One regret dear world, that I am determined not to have when I am lying on my deathbed is that I did not kiss you enough.

I do not feel like writing verses; but as I light my perfume burner with myrrh and jasmine incense, they suddenly burgeon from my heart, like flowers in a garden.

Carry your heart through this world like a life-giving sun

There are different wells within your heart. Some fill with each good rain, Others are far too deep for that.