The object of our lives is to look at, listen to, touch, taste things. Without them, - these sticks, stones, feathers, shells, - there is no Deity.
If you take care of the little things, the big things take care of themselves.
When we look for things there is nothing but mind, and when we look for mind there is nothing but things.
Change without continuity is chaos. Continuity without change is sloth-and very risky.
A little touch of chaos and danger makes a city sexy.
Art is order, made out of the chaos of life.
Chaos is the soul of creation. It plows the ground of intuition. Without chaos, nothing will grow.
One of the attributes of love . . . is to bring harmony and order out of chaos.
Until we see love as the meaning of life, life seems to have no meaning at all. The sense of meaninglessness produces chaos, and the chaos produces fear. There is only one way out of this, and that is to see every moment and every situation as an invitation to love.
It's only natural for unbridled partisanship, unrestrained by allegiance to a greater cause, to lead to chaos.
What a gift of grace to be able to take the chaos from within and from it create some semblance of order.
Everyday life surrounds us in a swirling chaos, and it's easy to fall into the grip of our ego's fears and confusion. Remind yourself each day of your intentions and spiritual purpose. Meditate, find your center, look closely at yourself, and don't let go of your intention until it feels centered inside yourself.
Music is structure out of Chaos
To understand the whole it is necessary to understand the parts. To understand the parts, it is necessary to understand the whole. Such is the circle of understanding.
The only way out is spiritual, intellectual, and emotional revolution in which, finally, we learn to experience first hand the interloping connections between person and person, organism and organism, action and consequence.
Art can make chaos seductive.
Pay attention to minute particulars. Take care of the little ones. Generalization and abstraction are the plea of the hypocrite, scoundrel, and knave.
Before the land rose out of the ocean, and became dry land, chaos reigned; and between high and low water mark, where she is partially disrobed and rising, a sort of chaos reigns still, which only anomalous creatures can inhabit.
Before abstraction everything is one, but one like chaos; after abstraction everything is united again, but this union is a free binding of autonomous, self-determined beings. Out of a mob a society has developed, chaos has been transformed into a manifold world.
In a virtuous action, I properly am; in a virtuous act, I add to the world; I plant into deserts conquered from Chaos and Nothing, and see the darkness receding on the limits of the horizon.
At my back I hear the word-"homosexual"-and it seems to split my world in two.... It is ignorance, our ignorance of one another, that creates this terrifying erotic chaos. Information, a crumb of information, seems to light the world.
I don't know much about death and the sorriest lesson I've learned is that words, my most trusted guardians against chaos, offer small comfort in the face of anyone's dying.
Every so often something shatters like ice and we are in the river of our existence. We are aware.
There has to be pain. That's the rule.
I can feel this heart inside me and I conclude it exists. I can touch this world and I also conclude that it exists. All my knowledge ends at this point. The rest is hypothesis.
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