He had thought more than other men, and in matters of the intellect he had that calm objectivity, that certainty of thought and knowledge, such as only really intellectual men have, who have no axe to grind, who never wish to shine, or to talk others down, or to appear always in the right.

His life oscillates, as everyone's does, not merely between two poles, such as the body and the spirit, the saint and the sinner, but between thousands and thousands.

Those who cannot think or take responsibility for themselves need, and clamor for, a leader.

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.

Oh, love isn't there to make us happy. I believe it exists to show us how much we can endure.

Siddhartha stopped fighting his fate this very hour, and he stopped suffering.

But peace, too, is a living thing and like all life it must wax and wane, accommodate, withstand trials, and undergo changes.