Solitude is a way to defend the spirit against the murderous din of our materialism.

The only right way: to love and serve the man of the modern world, but not simply to succumb, with him, to all his illusions about the world.

No writing on the solitary, meditative dimensions of life can say anything that has not already been said better by the wind in the pine trees.

The center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth.

The more you try to avoid suffering, the more you suffer, because smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you, in proportion to your fear of being hurt. The one who does most to avoid suffering is, in the end, the one who suffers most.

I had refused to pay any attention to the moral laws upon which all our vitality and sanity depend: and so now I was reduced to the condition of a silly old woman, worrying about a lot of imaginary rules of health, standards of food-value, and a thousand minute details of conduct that were in themselves completely ridiculous and stupid, and yet which haunted me with vague and terrific sanctions. If I eat this, I may go out of my mind. If I do not eat that, I may die in the night.

We are already ONE. We just think we are separate.