The gates made of light swing open. You see in.

Yesterday was glory and joy. Today, a blackened burn everywhere. On the record of my life, these two days will be put down as one

Since Love has made ruins of my heart The sun must come and illumine them. Such generosity has broken me with shame.

Neither this body am I, nor soul, Nor these fleeting images passing by, Nor concepts and thoughts, mental images, Nor yet sentiments and the psyche's labyrinth. Who then am I? A consciousness without origin, Not born in time, nor begotten here below. I am that which was, is and ever shall be, A jewel in the crown of the Divine Self, A star in the firmament of the luminous One.

You fill yourself with the sharp pain of love, rather than its fulfillment.

For me to praise is interrupting praise.

Where, with your one rose you can buy hundreds of rose gardens?