Play the flute of felicity! You, yourself, are the melody.

You left ground and sky weeping, mind and soul full of grief. No one can take your place in existence or in absence.

The way the Beloved can fit in my heart, two thousand lives could fit in this body of mine. One kernel could contain a thousand bushels, and a hundred worlds pass through the eye of the needle.

There is a morning inside you waiting to burst open into light.

The wine of this fleeting world caused your head to ache.

Purify yourself from the attributes of self, so that you may see your own pure, untarnished essence.

Love is the cure, for your pain will keep giving birth to more pain until your eyes constantly exhale love as effortlessly as your body yields its scent.