God is a pure no-thing, concealed in now and here; the less you reach for him, the more he will appear.

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.

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

By the will art thou lost, by the will art thou found, by the will art thou free, captive, and bound.

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

The Rose is without 'why'—she blooms because she blooms.

We keep so busy talking we are so keen to act that we forget that in the heart lies all we need untapped, intact.