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I know the way you can get / When you have not had a drink of Love: / Your face hardens, / Your sweet muscles cramp. / Children become concerned / About a strange look that appears in your eyes / Which even begins to worry your own mirror / And nose.
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Run my dear, from anything that may not strengthen your precious budding wings. Run like hell my dear, from anyone likely to put a sharp knife into the sacred, tender vision of your beautiful heart.
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The earth has disappeared beneath my feet, It fled from all my ecstasy. Now like a singing air creature I feel the rose keep opening.
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A poet is someone Who can pour Light into a spoon, Then raise it To nourish Your beautiful parched, holy mouth.
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Greatness is always built on this foundation: the ability to appear, speak and act, as the most common man.
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I rarely let the word NO escape from my mouth, because it is so plain to my soul that God has shouted, Yes! Yes! Yes! To every luminous movement in existence.
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People say that the soul, on hearing the song of creation, entered the body, but in reality the soul itself was the song.
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I do not feel like writing verses; but as I light my perfume burner with myrrh and jasmine incense, they suddenly burgeon from my heart, like flowers in a garden.
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How did the rose ever open its heart and give to this world all of its beauty? It felt the encouragement of Light against its being; otherwise we all remain too frightened.
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The only friends who are free from cares are the goblet of wine and a book. Give me wine...that I may for a time forget the cares of the world.