“Dear Ones, Beware of the tiny gods frightened men Create To bring anesthetic relief to their sad days.”

When no one is looking, I swallow deserts and clouds and chew on mountains knowing they are sweet bones! When no one is looking and I want to kiss God, I just lift my own hand to my mouth.

God and I have built an immense fire together. We keep each other happy and warm.

I am in love with every church And mosque And temple And any kind of shrine Because I know it is there That people say the different names Of the One God.

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.

It is written on the gate of heaven: Nothing in existence is more powerful than destiny. And destiny brought you here, to this page, which is part of your ticket-as all things are-to return to God.

A poet is someone Who can pour Light into a spoon, Then raise it To nourish Your beautiful parched, holy mouth.

What we speak becomes the house we live in.

What is the root of all these words? One thing: Love. But a love so deep and sweet it needed to express itself with scents, sounds, colors that never before existed.

Only heart to heart can speak the bliss of mystic knowers.

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.

There is an ambush everywhere from the army of accidents; therefore the rider of life runs with loosened reins.

Not loving is a letting go. Listen, The terrain around here Is Far too Dangerous For That.

This sky where we live is no place to lose your wings so love, love, love.

The beauty of You delights me. The sight of You amazes me. For the Pearl does this… and the Ocean does that.

Now that all your worry has proved such an unlucrative business. Why not find a better job.

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.

Fruit is always the miraculous, the created; it is never the result of willing, but always a growth. The fruit of the Spirit is a gift of God, and only He can produce it. They who bear it know as little about it as the tree knows of its fruit. They know only the power of Him on whom their life depends.

And besides, look at elder flowers and bluebells-they are a sign that pure creation takes place – even the butterfly.

Men can only think. Women have a way of understanding without thinking. Woman was created out of God’s own fancy. Man, He had to hammer into shape.

We must understand love; we must be able to teach it, to create it, to predict it, or else the world is lost to hostility and to suspicion.

What should young people do with their lives today? Many things, obviously. But the most daring thing is to create stable communities in which the terrible disease of loneliness can be cured.

Here is a lesson in creative writing. First rule: Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you’ve been to college.

By believing passionately in something that still does not exist, we create it. The nonexistent is whatever we have not sufficiently desired.

Most people believe the mind to be a mirror, more or less accurately reflecting the world outside them, not realizing on the contrary that the mind is itself the principal element of creation.