“You know how little while we have to stay, And, once departed, may return no more.”

The moving finger writes; and having writ, moves on.

Up from Earth’s Centre through the Seventh Gate rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate; And many a Knot unravel’d by the Road; But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.

It’s too bad if a heart lacks fire, and is deprived of the light of a heart ablaze. The day on which you are without passionate love is the most wasted day of your life.

In monasteries, seminaries, retreats and synagogues, they fear hell and seek paradise. Those who know the mysteries of God never let that seed be planted in their souls.

The rose that once has bloomed forever dies.

There was a door to which I found no key: There was the veil through which I might not see.

Algebras (jabbre and maqabeleh) are geometric facts which are proved by propositions five and six of Book two of Elements.

Think, in this batter’d Caravanserai Whose portals are alternate Night and Day, How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp Abode his destin’d Hour and went his way.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent doctor and saint, and heard great argument about it and about: but evermore came out by the same door as in I went.

The entire world shall be populous with that action which saves one soul from despair.

To-day is thine to spend, but not to-morrow; Counting on morrows breedeth bankrupt sorrow: O squander not this breath that Heaven hath lent thee; Make not too sure another breath to borrow.

Here’s to the man Who owns the land That bears the grapes That makes the wine That tastes as good As this does.

You’ve seen the world, and all you’ve seen is nothing; and everything, as well, that you have said and heard is nothing. You’ve sprinted everywhere between here and the horizon; it is nothing. And all the possessions you’ve treasured up at home are nothing.

When I want to understand what is happening today or try to decide what will happen tomorrow, I look back.

Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!

But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays Upon this Checker-board of Nights and Days; Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays.

Eulogy. Praise of a person who has either the advantages of wealth and power, or the consideration to be dead.

Justice is the handmaiden of truth, and when truth dies, justice is buried with it.

The spirituality of wonder knows the world is charged with grace, that while sin and war, disease and death are terribly real, God’s loving presence and power in our midst are even more real.

It’s pointless to cry. One is born and dies alone.

The truth is that we simply do not know what happens after death.

After much soul searching I was able to renounce my past Islamist ideology, challenging everything I was once prepared to die for.

It is not tolerable, it is not possible, that from so much death, so much sacrifice and ruin, so much heroism, a greater and better humanity shall not emerge.

If we stay where we are, where we’re stuck, where we’re comfortable and safe, we die there… When nothing new can get in, that’s death.