We have to stumble through so much dirt and humbug before we reach home. And we have no one to guide us. Our only guide is our homesickness.
The world is a holy vision, had we clarity to see it — a clarity that men depend on men to make.
I fear nothing, I hope for nothing, I am free.
Why in the world are we here? Surely not to live in pain and fear. Why on earth are you there When you’re everywhere? Come and get your share. Well we all shine on, Like the moon and the stars and the sun. Well we all shine on, Come on and on and on and on.
Idealistic reformers are dangerous because their idealism has no roots in love, but is simply a hysterical and unbalanced rage for order amidst their own chaos.
When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.
love is a place and through this place of love move (with brightness of peace) all places
No astrologer — and as well no psychoanalyst — can interpret a life and destiny at a level higher than that at which he himself functions.
Find your home in the haunts of every living creature. Make yourself higher than all heights and lower than all depths. Bring together in yourself all opposites of quality: heat and cold, dryness and fluidity. Think that you are everywhere at once, on land, at sea, in heaven. Think that you are not yet begotten, that you are in the womb, that you are young, that you are old, that you have died, that you are in the world beyond the grave. Grasp in your thought all this at once, all times and places, all substances and qualities and magnitudes together. Then you can apprehend God.
She had opened her mind to the words the way an eye used to darkness, veiled with its lashes, opens cautiously to the light, and, finding it even a little blinding, closes itself too late. The light had come, and come invincibly, even after the eye had renounced it. It was too late to unsee.
The more a person is able to direct his life consciously, the more he can use time for constructive benefits. The more, however, he is conformist, unfree, undifferentiated, the more, that is, he works not by choice but by compulsion, the more he is then the object of quantitative time. . . . The less alive a person is — “alive” here defined as having conscious direction of his life — the more is time for him the time of the clock. The more alive he is, the more he lives by qualitative time.
People think angels fly because they have wings. Angels fly because they take themselves lightly.
Come, come, whoever you are, Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving — it doesn’t matter, Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vow a hundred times Come, come again, come.
