On reaching a certain degree of pain we lose the world.
The world is the closed door. It is a barrier. And at the same time it is the way through.
Imagination and fiction make up more than three quarters of our real life.
Evil being the root of mystery, pain is the root of knowledge.
In solitude we are in the presence of mere matter (even the sky, the stars, the moon, trees in blossom), things of less value (perhaps) than a human spirit. Its value lies in the greater possibility of attention.
Electra weeping for the dead Orestes. If we love God while thinking that he does not exist, he will manifest his existence.