Some of the most relaxing weekends I have ever enjoyed were those I spent quietly with a sense of all work to date completed, and an absorbing mystery.
The woods were my Ritalin. Nature calmed me, focused me, and yet excited my senses.
In Buddhism there is one word for mind & heart: chitta. Chitta refers not just to thoughts and emotions in the narrow sense of arising from the brain, but also to the whole range of consciousness, vast & unimpeded.
I do not believe that to be religious in the best, authentic sense a man has to destroy his love life and mummify himself, body and soul.
My sense of fashion is unmatched. Also, my socks are unmatched. My feet have grown cold, but my love for you has not.
We all long for Eden, and we are constantly glimpsing it: our whole nature at its best and least corrupted, its gentlest and most human, is still soaked with the sense of exile.
Personally I think that competition should be encouraged in war and sport and business, but that it makes no sense in the arts. If an artist is good, nobody else can do what he or she does and therefore all comparisons are incoherent.
To love in the sense of passion-love is the contrary of to live. It is an impoverishment of one's being, an askesis without sequel, an inability to enjoy the present without imagining it as absent, a never-ending flight from possession.
What stirs lyrical poets to their finest flights is neither the delight of the senses nor the fruitful contentment of the settled couple; not the satisfaction of love, but its passion. And passion means suffering.
Humans ain't blind about the future. Most disable one of the senses because they feel daunted to look at it. It is fear that makes them blind, at the same time feel challenged as well.
To know other people thought he'd made a mistake vindicated me. I wasn't a bad girlfriend, he was simply going through a period of temporary insanity and he'd come to his senses soon.
Faith, in the sense in which I am here using the word, is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods.
A nation's not a child, for God's sake. ... It's like a wild horse you tame by breaking it. Or a fiery woman you slap till she sees sense and warms your bed.
You weren't able to talk sense into him?" Well, we kind of tried to kill each other in a duel to the death." I see. You tried the diplomatic approach.
You’ve never had someone you love snatched,” I shot back, annoyed by her ignorance. “Any sense of safety kind of bites it after that. You watch your back because no one else can.
[Fear] can be a pleasure to look at, and I understand how some other humans love to experience his essence. We can sense beauty, even if we don’t see it.
Whilst my god is known for his sense of humour, I don't think it extends as far as to save us from death just to kill us as soon as we wake up.
Author says writing about Jesus is difficult because it is like writing about a friend "who is still liable to surprise us.
No, but I mean do you like him? You know, in the carnal sense." I rolled my eyes. "You've clearly been spending too much time with Dex.
Mama, the more I know of the world, the more I am convinced that I shall never see a man whom I can really love.
I know this: there is no sense to grief. There is no pattern or shape or texture, and there are no books or stories which can lessen the pain at losing a person you have loved, and will always love. There are no rules, with loss.
