Recently added

An unquestioned mind is the world of suffering.

One time, however, we were near quarrelling. He said the pleasantest manner of spending a hot July day was lying from morning till evening on a bank of heath in the middle of the moors, with the bees humming dreamily about among the bloom, and the larks singing high up overhead, and the blue sky and bright sun shining steadily and cloudlessly. That was his most perfect idea of heaven's happiness — mine was rocking in a rustling green tree, with a west wind blowing, and bright white clouds flitting rapidly above; and not only larks, but throstles, and blackbirds, and linnets, and cuckoos pouring out music on every side, and the moors seen at a distance, broken into cool dusky dells; but close by great swells of long grass undulating in waves to the breeze; and woods and sounding water, and the whole world awake and wild with joy. He wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. I said his heaven would be only half alive, and he said mine would be drunk; I said I should fall asleep in his, and he said he could not breathe in mine.

Personalities don’t love—they want something.

Reality is always kinder than the story we tell about it.

His brightening mind brightened his features, and added spirit and nobility to their aspect.

Everyone is a mirror image of yourself—your own thinking coming back at you.

Sanity doesn’t suffer, ever.

No one can hurt me—that’s my job.

Oh, I'm burning! I wish I were out of doors. I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free, and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them! Why am I so changed?

I don’t let go of concepts—I question them. Then they let go of me.

If I think you’re my problem, I’m insane.

I’m a lover of what is, not because I’m a spiritual person, but because it hurts when I argue with reality.