We sit inert, like dead specimens of some museum, while lessons are pelted at us from on high, like hailstones on flowers.

If you allow your mind to carp at all and sundry, it will turn against itself: the majority of our sorrows are self-inflicted.

Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain but for the heart to conquer it.

We are like newborn children, Our power is the power to grow.

God is neither manifest nor hidden; He is neither revealed nor unrevealed; there are no words to tell that which He is. He is without form, without quality, without decay.

Praise shames me, for I secretly beg for it.

Let my doing nothing when I have nothing to do, become untroubled in its depth of peace, like the evening in the seashore when the water is silent.