Only love has clear vision. Hatred has cloudy vision. When we hate we know not what we do.

Most of our love is shabby stuff, but there is always a thin line of gold, the bit of pure love on which all the rest depends -- and which redeems all the rest.

There is no beyond, there is only here, the infinitely small, infinitely great and utterly demanding present.

Man's creative struggle, his search for wisdom and truth, is a love story.

Moralistic is not moral. And as for truth - well, it's like brown - it's not in the spectrum. Truth is so generic.

... he felt himself to be one of them, who can live neither in the world nor out of it. They are a kind of sick people, whose desire for God makes them unsatisfactory citizens of an ordinary life, but whose strength or temperament fails them to surrender the world completely; and present-day society, with its hurried pace and its mechanical and technical structure, offers no home to these unhappy souls.

Being good is just a matter of temperament in the end.