So We Tell The Same Story, Over

If Time Were A Bolt Of Cloth,” Said Om, “i Would Cut Out All The Bad Parts. Snip Out The Scary Nights And Stitch Together The Good Parts, To Make Time Bearable. Then I Could Wear It Like A Coat, Always Live Happily.

...the Face Has Limited Space. My Mother Used To Say, If You Fill Your Face With Laughing, There Will Be No More Room For Crying.

Children Don't Make Judgments About Which Details Are Important... A Child Captures Them All.

…god Is A Giant Quiltmaker. With An Infinite Variety Of Designs. And The Quilt Is Grown So Big And Confusing, The Pattern Is Impossible To See, The Squares And Diamonds And Triangles Don’t Fit Well Together Anymore, It’s All Become Meaningless. So He Has Abandoned It.

What Folly Made Young People, Even Those In Middle Age, Think They Were Immortal? How Much Better, Their Lives, If They Could Remember The End. Carrying Your Death With You Every Day Would Make It Hard To Waste Time On Unkindness And Anger And Bitterness, On Anything Petty. That Was The Secret: Remembering Your Dying Time, In Order To Keep The Stupid And The Ugly Out Of Your Living Time.