False hope is clung to with all one's might and main, till a day comes when it has sucked the heart dry and it forcibly breaks through its bonds and departs. After that comes the misery of awakening, and then once again the longing to get back into the maze of the same mistakes.

The question and the cry 'Oh, where?' melt into tears of a thousand streams and deluge the world with the flood of the assurance 'I am!'

Love is an endless mystery, because there is no reasonable cause that could explain it.

Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep?

The hours trip rapidly away, hiding their dreams in their skirts.

If someone smells a flower and says he does not understand, the reply to him is: there is nothing to understand, it is only a scent. If he persists, saying: that I know, but what does it all mean? Then one has either to change the subject, or make it more abstruse by saying that the scent is the shape which the universal joy takes in the flower.

A thorn can only be extracted if you know where it is.