I am so small I can hardly be seen. How can this great love be inside me? Look at your eyes. They are small, but they see enormous things.

The sky will bow down to your beauty, if you do.

There is a way between voice and presence, where information flows. In disciplined silence it opens; with wandering talk it closes.

Look at the moon in the sky, not the one in the lake.

Suffering is a gift; in its hidden mercy

I am not this hair, I am not this skin, I am the soul that lives within.

O Beloved, where is the Beloved?