Whatever Purifies You Is The Correct Road.

I Am Not From East Or West Not Up From The Ground Or Out Of The Ocean My Place Is Placeless A Trace Of The Traceless I Belong To The Beloved

If Only You Knew What Bliss I Find In Being Nothing.

I Want A Heart Which Is Split, Part By Part, Because Of The Pain Of Separation From God, So That I Might Explain My Longing And Complaint To It.

Play The Flute Of Felicity! You, Yourself, Are The Melody.

How Can You Ever Hope To Know The Beloved Without Becoming In Every Cell The Lover?