Part of us is always the observer, and no matter what, it observes. It watches us. It does not care if we are happy or unhappy, if we are sick or well, if we live or die. It’s only job is to sit there on our shoulder and pass judgment on whether we are worthwhile human beings.

Hell is a place, a time, a consciousness, in which there is no love.

You are life, inventing form. No more can you die on sword or years than you can die on doorways through which you walk, one room into another. Every room gives its word for you to speak, every passage its song for you to sing.

Every person, all the events of your life are there because you have drawn them there. What you choose to do with them is up to you.

One challenge of our adventure on earth is to rise above dead systems...wars, nations, destructions...to refuse to be a part of them, and express the highest selves we know how to be.

There is something that is transcendental about when we are immersed in that which we most love.

That which most concerns and worries you - your survival - is the only certainty you have.