He Who Tastes Not, Knows Not.

Rise Up Nimbly And Go On Your Strange Journey!

To Praise Is To Praise How One Surrenders To The Emptiness.

What Shall I Say, O Muslims, I Know Not Myself, I Am Neither A Christian, Nor A Jew, Nor A Zoroastrian, Nor A Muslim.

The Ripe Fignow That You Live Here In My Chest,anywhere We Sit Is A Mountaintop.and Those Other Images,which Have Enchanted Peoplelike Porcelain Dolls From China,which Have Made Men And Women Weepfor Centuries, Even Those Have Changed Now.what Used To Be Pain Is A Lovely Benchwhere We Can Rest Under The Roses.a Left Hand Has Become A Right.a Dark Wall, A Window.a Cushion In A Shoe Heel,the Leader Of The Community!now Silence. What We Sayis Poison To Someand Nourishing To Others.what We Say Is A Ripe Fig,but Not Every Bird That Flieseats Figs.

Your Body Is Away From Me, But There Is A Window Open From My Heart To Yours.