When the rose is gone and the garden faded you will no longer hear the nightingale's song. The Beloved is all; the lover just a veil. The Beloved is living; the lover a dead thing. If love withholds its strengthening care, the lover is left like a bird without care, the lover is left like a bird without wings. How will I be awake and aware if the light of the Beloved is absent? Love wills that this Word be brought forth.

Learn to speak by listening.

Rush out in the rain to be soaked with the sky.

Be quiet now and wait. It may be that the ocean one, the one we desire so to move into and become, desires us out here on land a little longer, going our sundry roads to the shore.

There is a path from me to you that I am constantly looking for.

And don't think the garden loses its ecstasy in winter. It's quiet, but the roots are down there riotous.

What matters is how quickly you do what your soul directs.