The political campaign won’t tire me, for I have an advantage. I can be myself.
People go through that psychological bit nowadays. They think they should always be reevaluated themselves. I fight the battles as they come along. That sort of juvenile self-analysis is something I’ve never done.
Only twice comes that cry of the mother which one hears as without one’s self — at birth and at death . . . why the same? Since one is the cry of supreme joy and the other of sorrow . . . Is it not that in all the Universe there is but one great continuing Sorrow, Joy, Ecstasy, Agony — the Mother Cry of Creation.
The white man knows how to make everything, but he does not know how to distribute it.
Jesus Christ is the only God.
And so am I.
And so are you.
True holiness consists in doing God’s will with a smile.
To raise an infant, to look after it, to educate it, and to give oneself to its service is as much and as good as the work of an adept because an adept forgets himself in meditation and a mother forgets herself by giving her life to the child.
As you think, you travel. As you love, you attract. You are today where your thoughts have brought you; you will be tomorrow where your thoughts take you. You cannot escape the result of your thoughts; but you can endure and learn, accept and be glad. You will realize the vision of your heart, not the idle wish. You will gravitate towards that which you secretly most love. Into your hands will be placed the exact result of your thoughts; you will receive that which you earn; no more, no less. Whatever your present environment may be, you will fall, remain, or rise with your thoughts, your vision — your ideal.
Yes, now. Now, please now, only now, not anything else only this now, and where are you and where am I and where is the other one, and not why, not ever why, only this now; and on and always please then always now, always now, for now always one now; one only one, there is no other one but one now, one, going now, rising now, sailing now, leaving now, wheeling now, soaring now, away now, all the way now, all of all the way now; one and one is one, is one, is one, is one, is still one, is still one, is one descendingly, is one softly, is one longingly, is one kindly, is one happily, is one in goodness, is one to cherish, is one now . . .
What you deny to others will be denied to you, for the plain reason that you are always legislating for yourself, all your words and actions define the world you want to live in.
Loneliness is necessary for pure poetry. When someone intrudes into the poet’s life (and any sudden personal contact, whether in bed or in the heart, is an intrusion) he loses his balance for a moment, slips into being who he is, uses his poetry as one would use money or sympathy. The person who writes the poetry emerges, tentatively, like a hermit crab from a conch shell. The poet, for that instant, ceases to be a dead man.
I beseech you, in the bowels of Christ, think it possible you may be mistaken.