Love is difficult, because loving is not enough: We must, like God, ourselves be Love.

What is outside yourself does not convey much worth; Clothes do not make the man, the saddle not the horse.

God, whose love and joy are present everywhere, can't come to visit you unless you aren't there.

Nothing can throw thee into the infernal abyss so much as this detested word - heed well! - this mine and thine.

The rose does not have a why; it blossums without reason, forgetful of self and oblivious to our vision.

The rose is without 'why'; it blooms simply because it blooms. It pays no attention to itself, nor does it ask whether anyone sees it.

A monk asks:Is there anything more miraculous than the wonders of nature?The master answers:Yes, your awareness of the wonders of nature.