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Here you will read the innermost thoughts and feelings of inspired seekers who have gone before you. Some names you may know… others you will be glad to meet!
Strange is it that our bloods,
Of colour, weight, and heat, pour’d all together,
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
In differences so mighty.
The spiritual path wrecks the body and afterwards restores it to health. It destroys the house to unearth the treasure, and with that treasure builds it better than before.
Oh, thou that pinest in the imprisonment of the Actual, and criest bitterly to the gods for a kingdom wherein to rule and create, know this of a truth: the thing thou seekest is already within thee, here and now, couldest thou only see!
Who seeks, and will not take when once ’tis offered, shall never find it more.
There is an unspeakable pleasure attending the life of a voluntary student.
Always remember that the world rewards its own. The more you lie and deceive people, the more you get from this world in position and power.
Whatever thou doest, whatever thou eatest, do all as if for me.
There are nine hundred and ninety-nine patrons of virtue to one virtuous man.
The crosses which we make for ourselves by over-anxiety as to the future are not Heaven-sent crosses. We tempt God by our false wisdom, seeking to forestall His arrangements, and struggling to supplement His Providence by our own provisions. The crosses actually laid upon us always bring their own special grace and consequent comfort with them; we see the Hand of God when it is laid upon us. But the crosses wrought by anxious foreboding are altogether beyond God’s dispensations.
Our indifference to the truth is due to our determination to follow our desires. “It is of no importance,” men say, “to know where the truth is, since we know what will give us pleasure.”
If you let yourself be made out in the right by another, you must no less let yourself be made out in the wrong by him. If approval and reward come to you from another, you must also expect his disapproval and punishment.
Who shall be true to us,
When we are so unsecret to ourselves?
I would rather sit on a pumpkin, and have it all to myself, than to be crowded on a velvet cushion.
There is no coming to consciousness without pain. People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own soul. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.
We are not only enough… We are all there is.
Our reason is so weak that a trifle is enough to trouble and intoxicate it.
What we call conscience, is, in many instances, only a wholesome fear of the constable.
The man who spends his life in sensual acts performs acts that depend on temporary causes beyond his control. Of himself he does nothing, but it seems to him that he is acting independently. In reality, all that he imagines he is doing by himself is done through him by a higher power; he is not the creator of life but its prisoner. But the man who devotes his life to the recognition and practice of the truth revealed to him unites himself with the source of universal life, and accomplishes not personal or individual acts that depend upon time and space, but acts that have no cause, but are in themselves causes of all else, and have an endless significance.
If we were faultless, we should not be so much annoyed by the defects of those with whom we associate. If we were to acknowledge honestly that we have not virtue enough to bear patiently with our neighbor’s weaknesses, we should show our own imperfection, and this alarms our vanity.
Whatever you think appears in consciousness as a show. That’s the way thought works to display its content, as a show of imagination. Therefore if you think the observer is separate from the observed, it’s going to appear in consciousness as two different entities. The point is that the words will seem to be coming from the observer who knows, who sees, and therefore they are the truth, they are a description of the truth. That’s the illusion.