I came to the conclusion then that "continual mindfulness". . . must mean, not a sergeantmajor-like drilling of thoughts, but a continual readiness to accept whatever came.

I want to feel myself part of things, of the great drift and swirl: not cut off, missing things, like being sent to bed early as a child, the blinds being drawn while the sun and cheerful voices came through the chink from the garden.

I used to worry about what life was for - now being alive seems sufficient reason.

Colour is, on the evidence of language alone, very bound up with the feelings.

Love is not getting, but giving. It is sacrifice. And sacrifice is glorious!

Once you assume your right to interfere in other people's problems they become in some ways more of a worry than your own, for with your own you can at least do what you think best, but other people always show such a persistent tendency to do the wrong thing.

It's weak and despicable to go on wanting things and not trying to get them.