She enjoyed sucking her thumb. He said it was immature. So she stopped, and then there was nothing left that she could enjoy. So she became an alcoholic instead. He didn’t mind that nearly so much; at least, that seemed mature.
Consider how hard it is to change yourself and you’ll understand what little chance you have of trying to change others.
You must do the thing you think you cannot do.
Comparison is degrading. It perverts one’s outlook. And on comparison one is brought up. All our education is based on it and so is our culture. So there is everlasting struggle to be something other than what one is. The understanding of what one is uncovers creativeness, but comparison breeds competitiveness, ruthlessness, ambition, which we think brings about progress. Progress has only led so far to more ruthless wars and misery than the world has ever known.
Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.
Whole sight; or all the rest is desolation.
We are two mirrors crossing their swords.
I owe much to my friends, but . . . even more to my enemies. The real person springs to life under a sting even better than under a caress.
If you would be unloved and forgotten, be reasonable.
They have stopped deceiving you, not loving you. And to you it seems that they have stopped loving you.
It goes without saying that as soon as one cherishes the thought of winning the contest or displaying one’s skill in technique, swordsmanship is doomed.
I am trying to be unfamiliar with what I am doing.
When someone does us an evil turn we engrave his name in marble; but when someone does us a good turn we write the name in dust.
Everything in life that we really accept undergoes a change. So suffering must become love. That is the mystery.
What good is it to me if Mary gave birth to the Son of God fourteen hundred years ago, and I do not also give birth to the Son of God in my time and in my culture? We are all meant to be mothers of God. God is always needing to be born.
Every time we say, “Thy will be done,” we should have in mind all possible misfortunes added together.
Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, the depths of their hearts where neither sin nor desire nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, the person that each one is in God’s eyes. If only they could see themselves as they really are. If only we could see each other that way all the time, there would be no more war, no more hatred, no more cruelty, no more greed. . . . I suppose the big problem is that we would fall down and worship each other.
There are, indeed, things that cannot be put into words. They make themselves manifest. They are what is mystical.
I got up on my feet and went over to the bowl in the corner and threw cold water on my face. After a while I felt a little better, but very little. I needed a drink, I needed a lot of life insurance, I needed a vacation, I needed a home in the country. What I had was a coat, a hat, and a gun. I put them on and went out of the room.
