Every Word, Every Image Used

We Live In A Flash Of Light; Evening Comes And It Is Night Forever. It's Only A Flash And We Waste It. We Waste It With Our Anxiety, Our Worries, Our Concerns, Our Burdens.

No. An Unremitting Readiness To Admit You May Be Wrong.

The Master Never Seemed To Have His Fill Of Gazing At His Firstborn Child. "what Do You Want Him To Be When He Grows Up?" Someone Asked. "outrageously Happy," Said The Master.

The Tragedy Of An Attachment Is That If Its Object Is Not Attained It Causes Unhappiness. But If It Is Attained, It Does Not Cause Happiness – It Merely Causes A Flash Of Pleasure Followed By Weariness, And It Is Always Accompanied, Of Course, By The Anxiety That You May Lose The Object Of Your Attachment.

Whatever Is Truly Alive Must Die. Look At The Flowers; Only Plastic Flowers Never Die.