What is not in the open street is false, derived, that is to say, literature.
"Everyman has his own destiny: The only imperative is to follow it, to accept it, no matter where it leads him."
And what is the potential man, after all? Is he not the sum of all that is human? Divine, in other words?
Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heart-ache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because se we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he gets desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive form the same source. There is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up to discover what is already there.
We invent nothing, truly. We borrow and re-create. We uncover and discover. All has been given, as the mystics say. We have only to open our eyes and hearts, to become one with that which is.
The imperfections of a man, his frailties, his faults, are just as important as his virtues. You can’t separate them. They’re wedded.
Develop an interest in life as you see it; the people, things, literature, music-the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself.
The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificient world in itself
What distinguishes the majority of men from the few is their inability to act according to their beliefs.
