“Hearts are like tapers, which at beauteous eyes Kindle a flame of love that never dies; And beauty is a flame, where hearts, like moths, Offer themselves a burning sacrifice.”

I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life to spell: And by and by my Soul return’d to me, And answer’d: ‘I Myself am Heav’n and Hell.

Into this universe, and why not knowing Nor whence, like water willy-nilly flowing; And out of it, as wind along the wate, I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.

Drink! For you know not whence you came nor why.

Men talk of heaven, – there is no heaven but here; Men talk of hell, – there is no hell but here; Men of hereafters talk and future lives, – O love, there is no other life – but here.

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

My friend, let’s not think of tomorrow, but let’s enjoy this fleeting moment of life.

The Flower that once has blown forever dies.

A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.

I hide my grief, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die, my love.

I hide my grief, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die, my love.

I hide my grief, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die, my love.

I came like Water, and like Wind I go.

I came like Water, and like Wind I go.

I came like Water, and like Wind I go.

Give me a flagon of red wine, a book of verses, a loaf of bread, and a little idleness. If with such store I might sit by thy dear side in some lonely place, I should deem myself happier than a king in his kingdom.

Thy Return is as another Sun to Heaven; a new Rose blooming in the Garden of the Soul.

I, the fiery life of divine wisdom, I ignite the beauty of the plains, I sparkle the water, I burn in the sun, and the moon, and the stars.

The time I burned my guitar it was like a sacrifice. You sacrifice the things you love. I love my guitar.

We don’t burnout because of what we do, we burnout because life makes us forget why we do it.

I guess there’s so much in your absence that kills my soul from the burning wood to ash.

The moon is brighter since the barn burned.

She blooms wild and burns bright.

The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.

A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.