Excerpt from short story by Ellen Glasgow “Thinking Makes It So”. and More Rumi Quotes

“Om is the bow, the arrow is the soul,
Brahman is the arrow’s goal
At which one aims unflinchingly.”
—-From “SIDDHARTHA” by Herman Hesse

“Love depends not on outward form or face.” —-RUMI

“O thou that hearest prayer and relievest pain, your faithful
slave is bowing down before thee” —-RUMI

“He buys the worthless rubbish you call your wealth, He pays you
the light that illumines your heart.” —-RUMI

“Through love sickness is health.”

“Through love the king becomes a slave.”

“Love is fearless in the midst of a sea of fear.”

“Through love bewilderment befalls the power of speech.”

“Tis the ferment of love that possesses the wine.”

“When the discourse touched on the matter of love, pen was broken and paper torn.”

“When the tears course down my cheeks, they are proof of the beauty and grace of my beloved.”

“With thee, my love, hell itself were heaven.”

Excerpt from short story by Ellen Glasgow “Thinking Makes It So”:
“Dear Lover of My Poems,
If I had known that my verse was for you, I think I should have made only songs of joy, never of sadness. The letter you sent to the strange poet- the poet whom you dreamed of as courageous and strong, pure and beautiful— came to me yesterday; an oh, man of vision! it found me wearing rose-color, the flaming rose of the sunrise. Your poet may be none of the wonderful things you imagine, but she is dark and pale, and she wears the color she wore in your dream.
You say you are an ordinary mortal, you dreamer of dreams, but does an ordinary mortal dream true even when he sleeps in moonlight? So sleep again, and dream again of your poet who is also your
Margaret French”

“Dear Poet and Woman.

So for once in the history of this sad old world the dream has come true! You are you, and I have found you. When I wrote to you, half in jest, half in earnest, I never imagined that you would answer. That you should have answered just as you did is almost too good to be real. I feel like pinching myself to prove that I am awake, and that the sunshine is not moonlight. That you should be the Margaret French I dreamed of— my lady, rare and pale and dressed all in flaming rose color— brings the heaven I once believed in down on the earth.
I have lived hard in rough places, but I have always kept my dreams hidden away somewhere. Deep down in every man there is the eternal dream, I suppose— the dream that is crowded out in the day, but comes back to him sometimes now and then when he falls asleep in the moonlight. Once long ago, before I began to build railroads, I also wrote verses. In those days I wanted to be a poet- such a poet as you are and I could never have been—-.”


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