If Christ were born in Bethlehem a thousand times and not in thee thyself; then art thou lost eternally.

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

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

Paradise is at your own center; unless you find it there, there is no way to enter.

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

Springtime is at hand. When will you ever bloom, if not here and now?

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