You have actually waltzed with tremendous style, my sweet, O my sweet, crushed angel.

The earth has disappeared beneath my feet, It fled from all my ecstasy. Now like a singing air creature I feel the rose keep opening.

Your heart and my heart are very, very old friends.

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.

Grieve not; though the journey of life be bitter, and the end unseen, there is no road which does not lead to an end.

The lips of the one I love are my perpetual pleasure.

I am happy even before I have a reason.