If we fix on the old, we get stuck.
Wherever the poetry of myth is interpreted as biography, history, or science, it is killed.
Regrets are illuminations come too late.
He who thinks he knows, doesn't know. He who knows that he doesn't know, knows.
When you follow your bliss...doors will open where you would not have thought there would be doors, and where there wouldn't be a door for anyone else.
For the bliss of the deep abode is not lightly abandoned in favor of the self-scattering of the wakened state.