Deeply, he felt the love for the run-away in his heart, like a wound, and he felt at the same time that this wound had not been given to him in order to turn the knife in it, that it had to become a blossom and had to shine. That this wound did not blossom yet, did not shine yet, at this hour, made him sad. Instead of the desired goal, which had drawn him here following the runaway son, there was now emptiness.

As a body everyone is single, as a soul never.

Love can be begged, bought, or received as a gift, one can find it in the street, but one cannot steal it.

What could I say to you that would be of value, except that perhaps you seek too much, that as a result of your seeking you cannot find.

Love is like death. It is fulfillment and an evening after which nothing more may follow.

You know quite well, deep within you, that there is only a single magic, a single power, a single salvation...and that is called loving. Well, then, love your suffering. Do not resist it, do not flee from it. It is your aversion that hurts, nothing else.

There is no reality except the one contained within us.