Having one king, one god, one belief, they can act single-mindedly.
The wise needn’t ask, the fool asks in vain.
A man would know the end he goes to, but he cannot know it if he does not turn, and return to his beginning, and hold that beginning in his being. If he would not be a stick whirled and whelmed in the stream, he must be the stream itself, all of it, from its spring to its sinking in the sea.
But need alone is not enough to set power free: there must be knowledge.
I write with all my heart.
Living, being in the world, was a much greater and stranger thing than she had ever dreamed.
No, I don’t mean love, when I say patriotism. I mean fear. The fear of the other. And its expressions are political, not poetical: hate, rivalry, aggression.
Progress means nothing to presence.
You are all in jail. Each alone, solitary, with a heap of what he owns. You live in prison, die in prison. It is all I can see in your eyes – the walls, the walls!
Anyhow they’re always exceptions. But most women, their only relationship to a man is having. Either owning or being owned.
Nothing said in words ever came out quite even. Things in words got twisted and ran together, instead of staying straight and fitting together.
The light is the left hand of darkness.
To exhibit the perfect uselessness of knowing the answer to the wrong question.
The airport bookstore did not sell books, only bestsellers, which Sita Dulip cannot read without risking a severe systemic reaction.
We decided that it was no good asking what is the meaning of life, because life isn’t an answer, life is the question, and you, yourself, are the answer.
He is far too intelligent to become really cerebral.
All knowledge is partial, infinitesimally partial. Reason is a net thrown out into an ocean. What truth it brings in is a fragment, a glimpse, a scintillation of the whole truth.
O foolish writer. Now moves. Even in storytime, dreamtime, once-upon-a-time, now isn’t then.
The bond between true lovers is as close as we come to what endures forever.
All or nothing at all, the true lover says, and that’s the truth of it. My love will never die, he says. He claims eternity. And rightly. How can it die when it’s life itself? What do we know of eternity but the glimpse we get of it when we enter in that bond?