There is no worse sickness for the soul, o you who are proud, than this pretense of perfection.

Those doing soul work, who want the searing truth more than solace or applause, know each other right away. Those who want something else turn and take a seat in another room. Soul-makers find each other’s company.

When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy.

I have no name for what circles so perfectly.

What comes, will go. What is found, will be lost again. But what you are is beyond coming and going and beyond description.

I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way. Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.

If you dig a pit for others to fall into, you will fall into it yourself.