The mute grain turns to love songs when swallowed by the nightingale.

Oh heart, if one should say to you that the soul perishes like the body, answer that the flower withers, but the seed remains.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.

And when you crush an apple with your teeth, say to it in your heart: Your seeds shall live in my body, And the buds of your tomorrow shall blossom in my heart, And your fragrance shall be my breath, And together we shall rejoice through all the seasons.

For love is sufficient unto love.

My yearning is my cup, my burning thirst is my drink, and my solitude is my intoxication; I do not and shall not quench my thirst. But in this burning that is never extinguished is a joy that never wanes.

The longing for paradise is paradise itself.