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Light the incense! You have to burn to be fragrant.

Rumi

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Rumi
Born: 1207
Born: September 30
Islamic Scholar
Literary
Mystic
Philosopher
Poet
Writer
Umm Al-Belaad
Jalālauddīna Rūmī
Ǧalāladdīn Rūmī
Dzhalaliddin Rumi
Jalaluʼddin Rumi
Gialâl ad-Dîn Rûmî
Jalálu-ʼd-ʼDín Muhammad i Rúmí
Dzhaloluddin Rumi
Celâleddin Rûmî
Ŷalāl al-Dīn Rūmī
Jalāluddīn Balkhī Rumī
Jolalud-Din Rumi
Zhaloliddin Rumiĭ
Jalaladdin Rumi
Dschelal-Eddin Rumi
Jalāluddīn Muḥammad Balkhī Rūmī
Rum
Jalāl ad-Dīn ar-Rūmī
Dschalaludd
Fragrant
Incense
Burn
Light

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Your earthly lover can be charming and coquettish but never very faithful. The true lover is the one who on your final day opens a thousand doors.
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This is not a day for asking questions, not a day on any calendar. This day is conscious of itself. This day is a lover, bread, and gentleness, more manifest than saying can say.
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In Winter the bare boughs that seem to sleep Work covertly, preparing for their Spring.
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The rose's rarest essence lives in the thorns.
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Protect yourself......from your own thoughts.
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The day is conscious of itself.
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Counterfeiters exist because there is such a thing as real gold.
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Even though you're not equipped, keep searching: equipment isn't necessary on the way to the Lord.
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In his mind she lay at his lap with his fingers gliding thru her straight beautiful hair. He smiles and says your beauty lights up everything around you.
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If my head holds one thought wise and clear, it's You. Poor as I am, what I hold dear is You. No matter how I see myself, I'm nothing ... Anything I am entirely is You!
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I do not know who lives here in my chest, or why the smile comes. I am not myself, more the bare green knob of a rose that lost every leaf and petal to the morning wind.
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A SEEING eye is better than three hundred blind men's: The eye can distinguish pearls from pebbles.
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In the garden I see only your face From trees and blossoms I inhale only your fragrance.
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To live without you is to be robbed of love and what is life without it? To live without you is death to me, my love but some call it life.
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At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come and press its face against mine. Breathe into me. Close the language-door and open the love-window. The moon won't use the door, only the window.
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Why should I be weary when every cell of my body is bursting with life?
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There is an unseen sweetness in the stomach’s emptiness. We are lutes. When the sound box is filled, no music can come forth. When the brain and the belly burn from fasting, every moment a new song rises out of the fire. The mists clear, and a new vitality makes you spring up the steps before you . . .
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There’s nothing left of me. I’m like a ruby held up to the sunrise. Is it still a stone, or a world made of redness? It has no resistance to sunlight.
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You're not a drop in the ocean. You are the entire ocean in a drop.
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I am a drunkard from another kind of tavern. I dance to a silent tune. I am the symphony of stars.
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