Love so needs to love that it will endure almost anything, even abuse, just to flicker for a moment. But the sky's mouth is kind, its song will never hurt you, for I sing those words.

The body's a mirror of heaven: Its energies make angels jealous. Our purity astounds seraphim. Devils shiver at our nerve.

Lovers move like lightning and wind. No contest. Theologians mumble, rumble-dumble, necessity and free will, while lover and beloved pull themselves into each other.

My friend, the sufi is the friend of the present moment. To say tomorrow is not our way.

Someone who goes with a half a loaf of bread to a small place that fits like a nest around him, someone who wants no more, who is not himself longed for by anyone else. He is a letter to everyone. You open it. It says, Live.

Submit to a daily practice. Your loyalty to that is a ring at the door. Keep knocking, and the joy inside will eventually open a window and look out to see who's there.

The lovers of God never run out of patience, for they know that time is needed for the crescent moon to become full.