Book: Siddhartha

Nothing. Nothing. Everything is there.

Everything is repeated, everything that was not suffered to the end and redeemed.

One has only to Express an idea out loud as it has been somewhat different, sounds a bit false, a bit silly.

... the man in the deep sleep state - is included in your secret...

- You're smart, my friend, said the Sublime and clever know how to say! Beware however, excessive punditry.

The world is not something perfect or slowly podvigina on the path to perfection. No, the world is perfect in every moment...

And anything else in the world I know so little as about myself...

No General exercises cannot accept truly seeking, truly wanting to find. He who is found, can accept any teaching, any purpose - its nothing separates from the thousands of others living in the Eternal, breathing in the Divine.

- Here is a stone, after some time, he may be, will turn to dust, and the earth will become plant, animal or human. In the old days I would have said, "This stone is only stone. It has no value, it belongs to the world of Maya. But as in the cycle of reincarnations he can become a man or spirit, I follow him recognize the value." So, probably, I have talked to before. Now, I think. This stone is stone; he is animal, he is God, he is the Buddha. I love and respect him not for what he ever may become one or the other, but for the fact that it is long and there is always both. Because it is stone that it now appears to me a stone just because I love it and see value and meaning in each of its veins and wells, in his yellow or grey, in his hardness, in the sound that it makes when I knock at it, in the dryness or wetness of its surface.

The world, friend Govinda, should not be considered imperfect or slowly walking along the path to perfection, no, he's perfect in every moment, all the sins already carry a redemption, all small children already embody the elderly, all newborn death, all dying people - eternal life.

Wisdom, which a wise man tries to pass on to another, always smacks of stupidity.

Love can beg, buy, receive as a gift, to find on the street, but to take by force is impossible.

In judgment no importance, whatever they were - beautiful or ugly, clever or foolish, anyone can be committed to them, or may neglect them.

But one thing I did well, for one thing I have to praise myself for what I have ceased to hate and to hurt myself that I'm done with the insane and empty life.