I Think In Any Writing You're Paying

I ... Had What Kierkegaard Called 'the Sickness Of Infinitude,' Wandering From One Path To Another With No Real Recognition That I Was Embarked Upon A Search, And Scarcely A Clue As To What I Might Be After. I Only Knew That At The Bottom Of Each Breath There Was A Hollow Place That Needed To Be Filled.

Anyone Who Thinks They Can Save The World Is Both Wrong And Dangerous

And Only The Enlightened Can Recall Their Former Lives; For The Rest Of Us, The Memories Of Past Existences Are But Glints Of Light, Twinges Of Longing, Passing Shadows, Disturbingly Familiar, That Are Gone Before They Can Be Grasped, Like The Passage Of That Silver Bird On Dhaulagiri.

In This Very Breath That We Take Now Lies The Secret That All Great Teachers Try To Tell Us.

My Eye Is Fixed Not On The Ending Of The Book But On The Feeling Of That Ending.