Work cannot convey the almost voluptuous sweetness of the feelings experienced ... in solitude.

Neglecting small things under the pretext of wanting to accomplish large ones is the excuse of a coward.

One must be very strong, or very stupid, or completely exhausted to face life with indifference.

The unsuspected is the daily fare of the traveler in Thibet.

"To fashion stars out of dog dung, that is the Great Work. To take a negative experience and, by comparing it to something worse, make it feel good, is the great skill."

As a stoic I must despise injury or, rather, I must not feel it, must not be affected by it so that it cannot violate the freedom of my soul.

Who knows the flower best? - the one who reads about it in a book, or the one who finds it wild on the mountainside?