God writes spiritual Mysteries on our heart, where they wait silently for discovery.

A craftsman pulled a reed from the reedbed, cut holes in it, and called it a human being. Since then, it's been wailing a tender agony of parting, never mentioning the skill that gave it life as a flute

Everyone sees the unseen in proportion to the clarity of his hear.

Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving. It doesn't matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. Come, yet again, come, come.

This discipline and rough treatment are a furnace to extract the silver from the dross. This testing purifies the gold by boiling the scum away.

Believe in love's infinite journey, for it is your own, for you are love. Love is life

I once had a thousand desires. But in my one desire to know you all else melted away.