Nothing divides one so much as thought.

We that change, hate change. And we that pass, love what abides. Ashes, darkness, dust.

Regarding R. H. Blyth: Blyth is sometimes perilous, naturally, since he's a high-handed old poem himself, but he's also sublime - and who goes to poetry for safety anyway.

Zen is the unsymbolization of the world.

Zen is poetry; poetry is Zen.

Zen is the game of insight, the game of discovering who you are beneath the social masks.

There is no greater difference between men than between grateful and ungrateful people.