We search for happiness everywhere, but we are like Tolstoy's fabled beggar who spent his life sitting on a pot of gold, under him the whole time. Your treasure--your perfection--is within you already. But to claim it, you must leave the buy commotion of the mind and abandon the desires of the ego and enter into the silence of the heart.

The more exquisitely and delightfully you can do nothing, the higher your life's achievement.

As a writer, you always read in two minds: You read as a reader and you enjoy it, and you look at it as a writer, and you just admire the architecture and the construction.

So now I have started living my own life. Imperfect and clumsy as it may look, it is resembling me now, thoroughly.

Venice is beautiful, but like a Bergman movie is beautiful; you can admire it, but you don't really want to live in it.

I have these new policies toward my life, like 'I will not accelerate when I see the yellow light.'

According to the mystics, this search for divine bliss is the entire purpose of a human life. this is why we all chose to be born, and this is why all the suffering and pain of life on earth is worthwhile--just for the chance to experience this infinite love. And once you have found this divinity within, can you hold it? Because if you can...bliss.