Love thy neighbor, but pull not down thy hedge.
Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them; thou has thy music too.
Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think'st him wronged, and mak'st his ear A stranger to thy thoughts.
Time is lord of thee: Thy wealth, thy glory, and thy name are his.
Waste not the remnant of thy life in those imaginations touching other folk, whereby thou contributest not to the common weal.
If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two, Thy soul the fixt foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if the other do.
My prayers, my God, flow from what I am not; I think thy answers make me what I am.
No repentance, obedience, self-denial, prayers, tears, reformation or ordinances, without the new creation, avail any thing to the salvation of thy soul.
Thy food is such As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs.
God warned Israel, "And if thou wilt make me an altar of stone, thou shalt not build it of hewn stone: for if thou lift up thy tool upon it, thou hast polluted it" (Ex. 20:25). To pollute something is to make it ordinary. God insists that any approach crafted by human ingenuity will produce a worship system just like all the pagan systems in the world. In other words, it will be common or profane - just like everyone else's paganism.
Little fly, thy summer's play My thoughtless hand has brushed away. Am not I a fly like thee? Or art not thou a man like me? For I dance and drink and sing, Till some blind hand shall brush my wing!
O solitude, where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.
Likest thou jelly within thy doughnut?
If thou thy selfe canst doe it, attend no others helpe or hand.
Live thy life as it were spoil and pluck the joys that fly.
This truth within thy mind rehearse, That in a boundless universe Is boundless better, boundless worse.
I have been so naughted in Thy Love's existence that my nonexistence is a thousand times sweeter than my existence
He makes His ministers a flame of fire. Am I ignitible? God deliver me from the dread asbestos of 'other things. ' Saturate me with the oil of the Spirit that I may be aflame. But flame is transient, often short lived. Canst thou bear this, my soul - short life?. . . Make me thy fuel, Flame of God.
"Some would call you a saint, some a chandala; some a lunatic, others a demon. Go on then straight to thy work without heeding either" - thus saith one of our great Sannyasins, an old emperor of India, King Bhartrihari, who joined the order in old times.
Almighty and eternal Lord God, the great Creator of heaven and earth, and the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ; look down from heaven in pity and compassion upon me thy servant, who humbly prostrate myself before thee.