What sets us against one another is not our aims-they all come to the same thing-but our methods, which are the fruit of our varied reasoning.

Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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