We know that from time to time there arise among human beings people who seem to exude love as naturally as the sun gives out heat.

The problem comes up because we ask the question in the wrong way. We supposed that solids were one thing and space quite another, or just nothing whatever. Then it appeared that space was no mere nothing, because solids couldn't do without it. But the mistake in the beginning was to think of solids and space as two different things, instead of as two aspects of the same thing. The point is that they are different but inseparable, like the front end and the rear end of a cat. Cut them apart, and the cat dies.

The more we struggle for life as pleasure, the more we are actually killing what we love.

A living body is not a fixed thing, but a flowing event, like a flame or a whirlpool.

The real you is not a puppet that life pushes around, the real deep down you is the whole universe.

So we down-to-earth, gutsy, tough, realistic, and practical types have just been squandering billions of dollars and unimaginable amounts of energy, nerve-work, and materials in whizzing off to the moon to discover, as astronomers knew before, that it was just a dreary slag heap. This is the true, original and scientifically etymological meaning of being lunatics. Crying for the moon.

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