All the books of the world full of thoughts and poems are nothing in comparison to a minute of sobbing, when feeling surges in waves, the soul feels itself profoundly and finds itself. Tears are the melting ice of snow. All angels are close to the crying person.

Each of us is merely one human being, merely an experiment, a way station. But each of us should be on the way toward perfection, should be striving to reach the center, not the periphery.

No permanence is ours, we are a wave that flows to fit whatever form it finds.

One cannot apologize for something fundamental, and a child feels and knows this as well and as deeply as any sage.

A magic dwells in each beginning, protecting us, telling us how to live.

God does not send us despair in order to kill us; he sends it in order to awaken us to new life.

Siddhartha has one single goal-to become empty, to become empty of thirst, desire, dreams, pleasure and sorrow-to let the Self die. No longer to be Self, to experience the peace of an emptied heart, to experience pure thought-that was his goal.