And if you are a rose, I am rose-shadow.

You are the fountain of the sun. I'm the shadow of a willow. You fall upon my forehead. I melt. You slip into my heart. It spills open. You surround me with such sweetness. I make it my home.

To become spiritual, you must die to self, and come alive in the Lord. Only then will the mysteries of God fall from your lips. To die to self through self-discipline causes suffering but brings you everlasting life.

They try to say what you are, spiritual or sexual? They wonder about Solomon and all his wives. In the body of the world, they say, there is a soul and you are that. But we have ways within each other that will never be said by anyone.

I belong to no religion. My religion is love. Every heart is my temple.

You’re a song, a wished-for song.

Words are a pretext. It is the inner bond that draws one person to another, not words.