To feel that life is meaningless unless “I” can be permanent is like having fallen desperately in love with an inch.

The morning glory which blooms for an hour differs not at heart from a giant pine that lives for a thousand years.

Life and love generate effort but effort will not generate them.

Without birth and death, and without the perpetual transmutation of all the forms of life, the world would be static, rhythm-less, undancing, mummified.

Many people never grow up. They stay all their lives with a passionate need for external authority and guidance, pretending not to trust their own judgment.

What keeps us from happiness is our inability to fully inhabit the present

this present moment never comes to be and it never ceases to be, it is simply our minds that construct the continuity of thoughts we call time. In the present moment is nirvana.