The seed haunted by the sun never fails to find its way between the stones in the ground. And the pure logician, if no sun draws him forth, remains entangled in his logic.

Pure logic is the ruin of the spirit.

More wisdom is latent in things-as-they-are than in all the words men use.

We are prudent people. We are afraid to let go of our petty reality in order to grasp at a great shadow.

Prison is not a mere physical horror. It is using a pickaxe to no purpose that makes a prison.

Vain is the hope of finding pleasure in that which one has hitherto disdained; as when the warrior hopes to find pleasure in the joys of the sedentaries.

What value has compassion that does not take its object in its arms?

In anything at all, perfection is finally attained not when there is no longer anything to add, but when there is no longer anything to take away.

Mad is the man who is forever gritting his teeth against that grani.te block, complete and changeless, of the past.

Peace is present when man can see the face that is composed of things that have meaning and are in their place. Peace is present when things form part of a whole greater than their sum, as the diverse minerals in the ground collect to become the tree.