Those who direct the maximum force of their desires toward the center, toward true being, toward perfection, seem quieter than the passionate souls because the flame of their fervor cannot always be seen.

One never reaches home, but wherever friendly paths intersect the whole world looks like home for a time.

There are always a few such people who demand the utmost of life and yet cannot come to terms with its stupidity and crudeness.

What he had not learned, however, was this: to find contentment in himself and his own life

Each man carries the vestiges of his birth; the slime and eggshells of his primeval past with him to the end of his days. Some never become human, remaining frog, lizard, ant. Some are human above the waist, fish below.

Art is the contemplation of the world in a state of grace.

What is the holding of breath? It is a flight from the Self, it is a temporary escape from the torment of Self. It is a temporary palliative against the pain and folly of life.