Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.
Perhaps people like us cannot love. Ordinary people can – that is their secret.
People with courage and character always seem sinister to the rest.
Passion is always a mystery and unaccountable, and unfortunately there is no doubt that life does not spare its purest children and often it is just the most deserving people who cannot help loving those that destroy them.
Our mind is capable of passing beyond the dividing line we have drawn for it. Beyond the pairs of opposites of which the world consists, other, new insights begin.
One never reaches home, but where paths that have affinity for each other intersect the whole world looks like home, for a time.
One day I would be a better hand at the game. One day I would learn how to laugh.
One can call these moments creative, because they seem to give a feeling of union with the creator, and while they last, one is sensible of everything being necessary, even what is seemingly fortuitous. It is what the mystics call union with God.
No man has ever been entirely and completely himself. Yet each one strives to become that — one in an awkward, the other in a more intelligent way, each as best he can.
Never is a man or a deed wholly Samsara or wholly Nirvana; never is a man wholly a saint or a sinner.
Man’s life seems to me like a long, weary night that would be intolerable if there were not occasionally flashes of light, the sudden brightness of which is so comforting and wonderful, that the moments of their appearance cancel out and justify the years of darkness.
Love isn’t there to make us happy. I believe it exists to show us how much we can endure.