The most exhausting thing in life is being insincere.
Perhaps middle-age is, or should be, a period of shedding shells; the shell of ambition, the shell of material accumulations and possessions, the shell of the ego.
The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach - waiting for a gift from the sea.
life itself is always pulling you away from the understanding of life.
I must try to be alone for part of each year...and part of each day...in order to keep my core, my center...Women must be still as the axis of a wheel in the midst of her activities. She must be the pioneer of achieving this stillness, not only for her own salvation, but for the salvation of family life, of society, perhaps even of our civilization.
Grief can't be shared. Everyone carries it alone. His own burden in his own way.
Only when one is connected to one's own core is one connected to others, I am beginning to discover. And, for me, the core, the inner spring, can best be refound through solitude.
We seem so frightened today of being alone that we never let it happen. Even if family, friends, and movies should fail, there is still the radio or televsion to fill up the void... We can do our housework with soap-opera heroes at our side... Now instead of planting our solitude with our own dream blossoms, we choke the space with continuous music, chatter, and companionship to which we do not even listen. It is simply there to fill the vacuum. When the noise stops there is no inner music to take its place. We must re-learn to be alone.
Only with winter-patience can we bring the deep-desired, long-awaited Spring.
Can one make the future a substitute for the present? And what guarantee have we that the future will be any better if we neglect the present?
Yesterday's fairy tale is today's fact. The magician is only one step ahead of his audience.
People "died" all the time. . . . Parts of them died when they made the wrong kinds of decisions-decisions against life. Sometimes they died bit by bit until finally they were just living corpses walking around. If you were perceptive you could see it in their eyes; the fire had gone out. . . you always knew when you made a decision against life. The door clicked and you were safe inside-safe and dead.
My father taught me that a bill is like a crying baby and has to be attended to at once.
Only in growth, reform, and change, paradoxically enough, is true security to be found.
It is a difficult lesson to learn today-to leave one's friends and family and deliberately practice the art of solitude for an hour or a day or a week. And yet, once it is done, I find there is a quality to being alone that is incredibly precious. Life rushes back into the void, richer, more vivid, fuller than before.
When the heart is flooded with love there is no room in it for fear, for doubt, for hesitation.
One learns first of all in beach living the art of shedding; how little one can get along with, not how much.
The nice thing about really intelligent people is that when you talk with them they make you feel intelligent too.
And one perfect day can give clues for a more perfect life.
The ball of rumor and criticism, once it starts rolling, is difficult to stop.
there is no aristocracy of grief. Grief is a great leveler.
To give without any reward, or any notice, has a special quality of its own.
One must lose one's life to find it.
Forsythia is pure joy. There is not an ounce, not a glimmer of sadness or even knowledge in forsythia. Pure, undiluted, untouched joy.
For sleep, one needs endless depths of blackness to sink into; daylight is too shallow, it will not cover one.
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