To reach perfection, we must all pass, one by one, through the death of self-effacement.

It is not the repeated mistakes, the long succession of petty betrayals--though, God knows, they would give cause enough for anxiety and self-contempt--but the huge elementary mistake, the betrayal of that within me which is greater than I--in complacent adjustment to alien demands.

Forgiving is forgetting, in spite of remembering.

At some moment I did answer "Yes" to someone or something. And from that hour on I was certain that existence is meaningful.

To preserve the silence within--amid all the noise. To remain open and quiet, a moist humus in the fertile darkness where the rain falls and the grain ripens--no matter how many tramp across the parade ground in whirling dust under an arid sky.

Better than other people.' Sometimes he says: 'That, at least, you are.' But more often: 'Why should you be? Either you are what you can be, or you are not - like other people.

Isn't the fulfillment of our duty towards our neighbor an expression of deepest desire?