Rumi, fully Jalāl ad-Dīn Muḥammad Rumi

Rumi, fully Jalāl ad-Dīn Muḥammad Rumi
1207
1273

Persian Poet, Jurist, Theologian and Sufi Mystic, Known as “Rumi” meaning “the Roman”

Author Quotes

The wine of this fleeting world caused your head to ache.

There is a passion in me, that doesn't long for anything, from another human being. I was given something else, a hat, to wear in both worlds. It fell off. It doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter.

There's no cure, except the retreat into love, for the suffering of subtly afflicted hearts.

This is how we are with wine and beautiful food... we want and we get drunk with wanting, then the headache and bitterness afterward.

Through love the devil becomes an angel. Through love stones become soft as butter. Through love grief is like delight. Through love demons become the servants of God.

Until the juice ferments a while in the cask; it isn't wine. If you wish your heart to be bright, you must do a little work.

We rarely hear the inward music, but we're all dancing to it nevertheless.

What you seek is seeking you.

When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy.

Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul? I cannot stop asking. If I could taste one sip of an answer, I could break out of this prison for drunks.

Without cause God gave us Being; without cause, give it back again.

The ground's generosity takes in our compost and grows beauty! Try to be more like the ground.

The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along.

The soul which cannot endure fire and smoke won't find the Secret.

The world is a mountain, in which your words are echoed back to you.

There is a secret medicine given only to those who hurt so hard they can't hope. The hopers would feel slighted if they knew.

These pains you feel are messengers. Listen to them.

This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First, to let go of life. In the end, to take a step without feet; to regard this world as invisible, and to disregard what appears to be the self. Heart, I said, what a gift it has been to enter this circle of lovers, to see beyond seeing itself, to reach and feel within the breast.

To change, a person must face the dragon of his appetites with another dragon, the life-energy of the soul.

Until you've found pain, you won't reach the cure. Until you've given up life, you won't unite with the supreme soul. Until you've found fire inside yourself, like the friend, You won't reach the spring of life..

We search for Him here and there while looking right at Him. Sitting by His side we ask, O Beloved, where is the Beloved? Enough with such questions! – Let silence take you to the core of life. All your talk is worthless when compared to one whisper of the Beloved.

Whatever possessions and objects of its desires the lower self may obtain, it hangs on to them, refusing to let them go out of greed for more, or out of fear of poverty and need.

When you feel a peaceful joy, that's when you are near truth.

Who says words with my mouth? All day I think about it, then at night I say it. Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing? I have no idea. My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that, and I intend to end up there. This drunkenness began in some other tavern. When I get back around to that place, I'll be completely sober. Meanwhile, I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary. The day is coming when I fly off, but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice? Who says words with my mouth? Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul? I cannot stop asking. If I could taste one sip of an answer, I could break out of this prison for drunks. I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way. Whoever brought me here will have to take me home. This poetry, I never know what I'm going to say. I don't plan it. When I'm outside the saying of it, I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.

Without you the instruments would die. One sits close beside you. Another takes a long kiss. The tambourine begs; touch my skin so I can be myself. Let me feel you enter each limb bone by bone, that what died last night can be whole today. Why live some soberer way, and feel you ebbing out? I won't do it. Either give me enough wine or leave me alone, now that I know how it is to be with you in constant conversation.

Author Picture
First Name
Rumi, fully Jalāl ad-Dīn Muḥammad Rumi
Birth Date
1207
Death Date
1273
Bio

Persian Poet, Jurist, Theologian and Sufi Mystic, Known as “Rumi” meaning “the Roman”