“...science, to quote your own words, is nothing else than a 'strange hankering after differences'. Her essence could not be better defined. For men of science nothing is so important as the clear definition of differences.”

“but what is it you wanted to learn from the teachings and teachers, and those who taught you so much, what could they not teach you?" and he concluded: "it was the i, whose meaning and essence i wanted to learn. it was the i, from which i wanted release, which i wanted to conquer. but i could not conquer it, i could only deceive it, only flee from it, only hide myself from it. truly, nothing in the world has taken up so much of my thinking as this i of mine, this conundrum, that i am alive, that i am one and separate and cut off from everyone else, that i am siddhartha! and about nothing in the world do i know less about than me, about siddhartha!”

“Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately after they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish.”

“Love is like death. It is fulfillment and an evening after which nothing more may follow.”

“Man is not by any means of fixed and enduring form (this, in spite of suspicions to the contrary on the part of their wise men, was the ideal of the ancients). He is nothing else than the narrow and perilous bridge between nature and spirit. His innermost destiny drives him on to the spirit and to God. His innermost longing draws him back to nature, the mother. Between the two forces his life hangs tremulous and irresolute.”

“You know quite well, deep within you, that there is only a single magic, a single power, a single salvation...and that is called loving. Well, then, love your suffering. Do not resist it, do not flee from it. It is your aversion that hurts, nothing else.”

“RainSoft rain, summer rainWhispers from bushes, whispers from trees.Oh, how lovely and full of blessingTo dream and be satisfied.I was so long in the outer brightness,I am not used to this upheaval:Being at home in my own soul,Never to be led elsewhere.I want nothing, I long for nothing,I hum gently the sounds of childhood,And I reach home astoundedIn the warm beauty of dreams.Heart, how torn you are,How blessed to plow down blindly,To think nothing, to know nothing,Only to breathe, only to feel.”