They who see through the eyes of others are controlled by the will of others.
Occasionally it does hit me, the words on a page. And I still love doing that, as I have for the last 60 years.
I think we communicate only too well, in our silence, in what is unsaid, and that what takes place is a continual evasion, desperate rearguard attempts to keep ourselves to ourselves. Communication is too alarming. To enter into someone else's life is too frightening. To disclose to others the poverty within us is too fearsome a possibility.
No matter how you look at it, all the emotions connected with love are not really immortal; like all other passions in life, they are bound to fade at some point. The trick is to convert love into some lasting friendship that overcomes the fading passion.
There are some things one remembers even though they may never have happened.
When the storm is over and night falls and the moon is out in all its glory and all you're left with is the rhythm of the sea, of the waves, you know what God intended for the human race, you know what paradise is.
The speech we hear is an indication of that which we don't hear. It is a necessary avoidance, a violent, sly, and anguished or mocking smoke screen which keeps the other in its true place. When true silence falls we are left with echo but are nearer nakedness. One way of looking at speech is to say that it is a constant stratagem to cover nakedness.
By 1988, I was living in New York myself.
There are no rules for living, because you are unique. Find your truth in each moment and dare to live it. That is the way to freedom.
I will fight to the death for one's right to be able to practice in their temple, their mosque, or in their church, even if they have a different belief than I do.
I had walked into that reading-room a happy, healthy man. I crawled out a decrepit wreck.