These pains you feel are messengers. Listen to them.

Everyone sees the unseen in proportion to the clarity of his heart, and that depends upon how much he has polished it. Whoever has polished it more sees more - more unseen forms become manifest to him.

When there's no sign of hope in the desert, so much hope still lives inside despair. Heart, don't kill that hope.

Free of who I was, free of presence, free of dangerous fear, hope, free of mountainous wanting.

Iron was black and sheenless, but cleansing and polishing washed away its blackness.

What the sayer of praise is really praising is himself, by saying implicitly, My eyes are clear." Likewise, someone who criticizes is criticizing himself, saying implicitly, "I can't see very well with my eyes so inflamed.

Silence is the language of God, all else is poor translation.