Love is the soul's light, the taste of morning, no me, no we, no claim of being.

You run back and forth listening for unusual events, peering into the faces of travelers. "Why are you looking at me like a madman?" I have lost a friend. Please forgive me.

All is known in the sacredness of silence.

Bitter your acts, bitter am I, Kindness your deeds, kindness am I, Pleasant and gentle, so you are, Fine honeyed lips and sweet talker.

Speak with the language of love.

The meaning of poetry has no sureness of direction; is like the sling, it is not under control.

Appear as you are, or be as you appear.