“A thousand for his love expired each day,And those who saw his face, in blank dismayWould rave and grieve and mourn their lives away-To die for love of that bewitching sightWas worth a hundred lives without his light.None could survive his absence patiently,None could endure this king's proximity-How strange it was that man could neither brookThe presence nor the absence of his look!”

“How strange it was that man could neither brookThe presence nor the absence of his look!”

“A KING WHO PLACED MIRRORS IN HIS PALACEThere lived a king; his comeliness was suchThe world could not acclaim his charm too much.The world's wealth seemed a portion of his grace;It was a miracle to view his face.If he had rivals,then I know of none;The earth resounded with this paragon.When riding through his streets he did not failTo hide his features with a scarlet veil.Whoever scanned the veil would lose his head;Whoever spoke his name was left for dead,The tongue ripped from his mouth; whoever thrilledWith passion for this king was quickly killed.A thousand for his love expired each day,And those who saw his face, in blank dismayWould rave and grieve and mourn their lives away-To die for love of that bewitching sightWas worth a hundred lives without his light.None could survive his absence patiently,None could endure this king's proximity-How strange it was that man could neither brookThe presence nor the absence of his look!Since few could bear his sight, they were contentTo hear the king in sober argument,But while they listened they endure such painAs made them long to see their king again.The king commanded mirrors to be placedAbout the palace walls, and when he facedTheir polished surfaces his image shoneWith mitigated splendour to the throne.If you would glimpse the beauty we revereLook in your heart-its image will appear.Make of your heart a looking-glass and seeReflected there the Friend's nobility;Your sovereign's glory will illuminateThe palace where he reigns in proper state.Search for this king within your heart; His soulReveals itself in atoms of the Whole.The multitude of forms that masqueradeThroughout the world spring from the Simorgh's shade.If you catch sight of His magnificenceIt is His shadow that beguiles your glance;The Simorgh's shadow and Himself are one;Seek them together, twinned in unison.But you are lost in vague uncertainty...Pass beyond shadows to Reality.How can you reach the Simorgh's splendid court?First find its gateway, and the sun, long-sought,Erupts through clouds; when victory is won,Your sight knows nothing but the blinding sun.”

“He had, like everyone else, his suffix ist, without which nobody could have lived in those days, but he was neither a royalist, nor a Bonapartist, nor a chartist, nor an Orléanist, nor an anarchist; he was an old-bookist.”

“There's a subtle difference between the man that lives like each day could be his last and the man who lives like there's no tomorrow.”

“In a world where everyone struggles to survive whatever the cost, how could one judge those people who decide to die? No one can judge. Each person knows the extent of their own suffering or the total absence of meaning in their lives.”