I say one thing, you write another, and those who read you understand still something else! I say: cross, death, kingdom of heaven, God...and what do you understand? Each of you attaches his own suffering, interests and desires to each of these sacred words, and my words disappear, my soul is lost. I can't stand it any longer!
Nikos KazantzakisThe heart unites whatever the mind separates, pushes on beyond the arena of necessity and transmutes the struggle into love.
Nikos KazantzakisWhen everything goes wrong, what a joy to test your soul and see if it has endurance and courage! An invisible and all-powerful enemyโsome call him God, others the Devil, seem to rush upon us to destroy us; but we are not destroyed.
Nikos KazantzakisThe landscape affects the human psyche - the soul, the body and the innermost contemplations - like music. Every time you feel nature deeper you resonate better with her, finding new elements of balance and freedom.
Nikos KazantzakisLook, one day I had gone to a little village. An old grandfather of ninety was busy planting an almond tree. โWhat, grandfather!โ I exclaimed. โPlanting an almond tree?โ And he, bent as he was, turned around and said: โMy son, I carry on as if I should never die.โ I replied: โAnd I carry on as if I was going to die any minute.โ Which of us was right, boss?
Nikos KazantzakisI should learn to run, to wrestle, to swim, to ride horses, to row, to drive a car, to fire a rifle. I should fill my soul with flesh. I should fill my flesh with soul. In fact, I should reconcile at last within me the two internal antagonists.
Nikos KazantzakisAll my life one of my greatest desires has been to travel-to see and touch unknown countries, to swim in unknown seas, to circle the globe, observing new lands, seas, people, and ideas with insatiable appetite, to see everything for the first time and for the last time, casting a slow, prolonged glance, then to close my eyes and feel the riches deposit themselves inside me calmly or stormily according to their pleasure, until time passes them at last through its fine sieve, straining the quintessence out of all the joys and sorrows.
Nikos Kazantzakis