Nature has a language of its own, or maybe those who have lived long in solitude read in it their own unconscious inner feelings and mysterious foreknowledge.

Very few of us are capable of being Free Thinkers, needing neither to adore nor to insult God, the insult often being an act of faith more profound than adoration.

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

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

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

All things are aggregations of atoms that dance & by their movement produce sound. When the rhythm of the dance changes, the sound it produces also changes... Each atom perpetually sings its song, and the sound at every moment creates dense subtle forms.

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