I realize today that nothing in the world is more distasteful to a man than to take the path that leads to himself.

For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves.

All I really wanted was to try and live the life that was spontaneously welling up within me. Why was that so very difficult?

There was once a man, Harry, called the steppenwolf. He went on two legs, wore clothes and was a human being, but nevertheless he was in reality a wolf of the steppes. He had learned a good deal of all that people of a good intelligence can, and was a fairly clever fellow. What he had not learned, however, was this: to find contentment in himself and his own life.

Love must neither beg nor demand. Love must be strong enough to find certainty within itself. It then cease to be moved and becomes the mover.

Learn what is to be taken seriously and laugh at the rest.

"For even the most childish intoxication with progress will soon be forced to recognize that writing and books have a function that is eternal. It will become evident that formulations in words and the handling on of these formulations through writing are not only important aids but actually the only means by which humanity can have a history and continuing consciousness of itself."