Industrial civilization is only possible when there’s no self-denial. Self-indulgence up to the very limits imposed by hygiene and economics. Otherwise the wheels stop turning.
The greater a man’s talents, the greater his power to lead astray.
To make this trivial world sublime, take half a gram of phanerothyme.
Parodies and caricatures are the most penetrating of criticisms.
The consistent thinker, the consistently moral man, is either a walking mummy or else, if he has not succeeded in stifling all his vitality, a fanatical monomaniac.
Of the significant and pleasurable experiences of life only the simplest are open indiscriminately to all. The rest cannot be had except by those who have undergone a suitable training.
No man ever dared to manifest his boredom so insolently as does a Siamese tomcat when he yawns in the face of his amorously importunate wife.
Ultimate Reality is not clearly and immediately apprehended except by those who have made themselves loving, pure in heart and poor in spirit.
Like every man of sense and good feeling, I abominate work.
If Men and Women took their Pleasures as noisily as the Cats, what Londoner could ever hope to sleep of nights?
Pure Spirit, one hundred degrees proof – that’s a drink that only the most hardened contemplation-guzzlers indulge in. Bodhisattvas dilute their Nirvana with equal parts of love and work.
Everyone thinks this way at some point. The important thing is to power through and get to learning. If you really don’t have the time Let Me Handle Your Analytics.
And what strange voices they have! Sometimes like the complaining of small children; sometimes like the noise of lambs...
Dedicated to all those who say: “I don’t have time for analytics” or “I don’t understand analytics”.
Faith may be relied upon to produce sustained action and, more rarely, sustained contemplation.
For the first time in the history of the world, Buddhism proclaimed a salvation which each individual could gain from him or herself, in this world, during this life, without any least reference to God, or to gods either great or small.
Now, a corpse, poor thing, is an untouchable and the process of decay is, of all pieces of bad manners, the vulgarest imaginable. For a corpse is, by definition, a person absolutely devoid of savoir vivre.
Civilization is sterilization.
But a priest’s life is not supposed to be well-rounded; it is supposed to be one-pointed – a compass, not a weathercock.
Every individual is at once the beneficiary and the victim of the linguistic tradition into which he has been born...