Convey my salutation to that fire-eating Turk who set aflame with one glance a city full of longing.

The point of this will be seen by a sympathetic heart: I swore to drink no more, but did not break the jar of wine.

O nightingale, I warned you many times against the rose’s infidelity; but you persist in clinging to its scentless skeleton.

The secret of life, if you want to know it, lies in restlessness. It would be shameful for a stream to go on resting in the sea.

O I am happy that to lovers you have granted restless souls and that You have created no cure for the malady of seeking.

‘Do not seek union with Me, for I transcend all thought.’ By saying this You gave my tears a new excuse for flowing.

Create a furor in the garden, storm it with your lament. Until breath gets choked in your breast do not give up your wailing.