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There is no pleasure without a tincture of bitterness.

Hafez

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Hafez
Lyricist
Poet
Writer
Shiraz city
Khāja Shamsu Dīn Muhammad Hāfez-e Shīrāzī
Ḥāfiz
Shamsoddin Mohammad Hafez-e Shirazi
Ḥāfeẓ
Moḥammed Shams od-Dīn Ḥafeẓ
Ḥāfiẓ
of Shiraz Šams-al-Din Moḥammad
Ḥāfiẓ Shīrāzī
Shams al-Dīn Muḥammad Shīrāzī
Shams-ud-Din Mohammed
Moḥammed Šams al-Dīn Ḥafeẓ
Hafiz
Khafiz
Hafis
Haafiz
Häfiz
Bitterness
Pleasure
Without
Tincture

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Woe to the dupe that yields to Fate!
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Everyone, whether he is self-denying or self-indulgent, is seeking after the Beloved. Every place may be the shrine of love, whether it be mosque or synagogue.
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Grieve not because thou understand-not life's mystery behind the veil is concealed many a delight.
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Listen this world is the lunatic's sphere , Don't always agree it's real, Even with my feet upon it And the postman knowing my door My address is somewhere else.
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You ache with loneliness one night so much you weep and I say 'here is a rope tie it around me Hafiz will be your companion for life'.
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I know you have a hundred complex cases against God in court, but never mind, let's just get out of this mess.
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On the holy boughs of the Celestial Tree High up in the heavenly fields, Beyond terrestrial desire My soul-bird a warm nest has built.
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Now is the time to know that all that you do is sacred.
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Your life within God's arms, Your dance within God's arms, Is already Perfect!
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Now that all your worry has proved such an unlucrative business. Why not find a better job.
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Love is simply creation's greatest joy.
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Pulling out the chair beneath your mind And watching you fall upon God What else is there for Hafiz to do that is any fun in this world!
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You yourself are your own obstacle, rise above yourself.
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All your wounds from craving love Exist because of heroic deeds.
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I am a hole in a flute that the Christ's breath moves through. Listen to this music.
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Come in, my dearFrom that harsh worldThat has rained elements of stoneUpon your tender face.Every soulShould receive a toast from usFor bravery!
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In time of trouble avert not thy face from hope, for the soft marrow abideth in the hard bone.
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'Tis writ on Paradise's gate, Woe to the dupe that yields to fate!
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Whatis the root of all these words? One thing: Love. But a love so deep and sweet it needed to express itself with scents, sounds, colors that never before existed.
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Love sometimes wants to do us a great favor: hold us upside down and shake all the nonsense out.
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