Man’s inner self is like a vast ocean, endless and without limits. If you think it’s just a small stream, you’re not thinking clearly.

This spinning sky above us is nothing mysterious It isn’t made of stone, but of fragile glass.

We drown in the self, and then we rise again; But this courage does not belong to a weak and useless man.

How can an astrologer know your true worth? You are living dust, not ruled by the stars.

Here, too, is paradise—here are the heavenly maidens and even Gabriel. But your eyes still lack the boldness and vision to truly see them.

My passionate madness has understood the times well. It has gifted me a robe of love, whole and unbroken.

Strange it is—Nature is generous, yet also withholding: The ruby glows with fire inside, but it holds back the spark.