The beginning of our happiness lies in the understanding that life without wonder is not worth living.

Our age is one in which usefulness is thought to be the chief merit of nature; in which the attainment of power, the utilization of its resources is taken to be the chief purpose of man in God's creation. Man has indeed become primarily a tool-making animal, and the world is now a gigantic tool box for the satisfaction of his needs.

Self-respect is the fruit of discipline; the sense of dignity grows with the ability to say no to oneself.

Forfeit your sense of awe, let your conceit diminish your ability to revere, and the universe becomes a market place for you.

All that is left is to us is our being horrified at the loss of our sense of horror.

For many of us the march from Selma to Montgomery was about protest and prayer. Legs are not lips and walking is not kneeling. And yet our legs uttered songs. Even without words, our march was worship. I felt my legs were praying.

There is a realm of time where the goal is not to have but to be, not to own but to give, not to control but to share, not to subdue but to be in accord. Life goes wrong when the control of space, the acquisition of things of space, becomes our sole concern.