The unbeliever knows his Koran best.

Oh! My beloved! fill the cup, that clears to-day of past regrets and future fears.

A hair divides what is false and true.

This body is a tent which for a space Does the pure soul with kingly presence grace; When he departs, comes the tent-pitcher, Death, Strikes it, and moves to a new halting-place.

In monasteries, seminaries, retreats and synagogues, they fear hell and seek paradise. Those who know the mysteries of God never let that seed be planted in their souls.

You know, my friends, with what a brave carouse I made a Second Marriage in my house; favored old barren reason from my bed, and took the daughter of the vine to spouse.

Thy Return is as another Sun to Heaven; a new Rose blooming in the Garden of the Soul.