The Rose which here on earth is now perceived by me, has blossomed thus in god from all eternity.

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

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

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

The name of Jesus is as ointment poured forth; It nourishes, and illumines, and stills the anguish of the soul.

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

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.