The heart that is free of love sickness isn't a heart at all. The body deprived of the pangs of love is nothing but clay and water.
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Sight is not the only way that love enters the heart; it often happens that love is born of the spoken word. The echo of beauty entering the ear may rob heart and soul of peace and reason.
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If love manifests itself within you, it has its origins in beauty. You are nothing but a mirror in which beauty is reflected. Because beauty and its reflection are both from the one source, it is both treasure and treasure house.
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All the atoms of the universe became so many mirrors, each reflecting an aspect of the eternal splendor. A portion fell on the rose, which drove the nightengale mad with love. Its ardor inflamed the candle's cheek, and hundreds of moths came from every side and burned themselves on it. It set the sun ablaze, and made the water lily loom up from the depths.
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