There is only this now. It does not come from anywhere; it is not going anywhere. It is not permanent, but it is not impermanent. Though moving, it is always still. When we try to catch it, it seems to run away, and yet it is always here and there is no escape from it. And when we turn around to find the self which knows this moment, we find that it has vanished like the past.

Everyone has love, but it can only come out when he is convinced of the impossibility and the frustration of trying to love himself.

The whole process of nature is an integrated process of immense complexity and it is really impossible to tell whether something that happens in it is good or bad. Because you never know what will be the consequences of the misfortune. Or, you never know what will be the consequences of good fortune.

The question is not what I should do in the future to get it, but rather, what am I presently doing that prevents me from realizing it right now?

For a decision-the freest of my actions just happens like hiccups inside me or like a bird singing outside me.

When we dance, the journey itself is the point, as when we play music the playing itself is the point.

The moralist is the person who tells people that they ought to be unselfish, when they still feel like egos, and his efforts are always and invariably futile.