Travelers, it is late. Life's sun is going to set. During these brief days that you have strength, be quick and spare no effort of your wings

There is no worse sickness for the soul, o you who are proud, than this pretense of perfection.

You are quaffing drink from a hundred fountains: whenever any of these hundred yields less, your pleasure is diminished. But when the sublime fountain gushes from within you, no longer need you steal from the other fountains.

Anyone who genuinely and consistently with both hands look for something, will find it.

The armies of the day have chased the army of the night, Heaven and earth are filled with purity and light.

The garden of love is green without limit and yields many fruits other than sorrow or joy. Love is beyond either condition: without spring, without autumn, it is always fresh.

Let the beauty we love do what we do.