The purpose of human life is the dissolution of the soul and the revelation of the Spirit. - Ian Gardner

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If you want to know what a man's character is really like. . . ask him to tell you the living person he most admires - for hero worship is the truest index of a man's private nature.

Ian Gardner

The purpose of human life is the dissolution of the soul and the revelation of the Spirit.

Human, Life, Purpose, Soul, Spirit

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In the spiritual search doubt is beneficial, a closed mind is not. Doubt used wisely assists enlightenment; a closed mind assists ignorance.

Assists, Doubt, Ignorance, Search, Spiritual, Wisely

If we cut open the bud of a beautiful rose in order to see how it is 'packed' and what it is going to look like, what sort of a bloom will we get?

Beautiful, Bloom, Cutting, Like, Order, Rose

The mind is acquired "human nature". The conscience is inherent "spiritual nature".

Conscience, Human Nature, Mind, Nature, Spiritual

As the mind shrinks at the will of the initiate, thought flows in to fill the spaces so created.

Fill, Flow, Initiate, Mind, Shrinks, Space

To have knowledge and to know are two different things, and one is possible without the other.

Different, Know, Knowledge, Things, Two

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Sydney J. Harris

If you want to know what a man's character is really like. . . ask him to tell you the living person he most admires - for hero worship is the truest index of a man's private nature.

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Samuel

The practice of architecture not only requires participation in the profession but it also requires civic engagement.

Architecture, Civic, Engagement, Practice, Requires

Eric Hoffer

In times of change learners inherit the earth; while the learned find themselves beautifully equipped to deal with a world that no longer exists.

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George Herbert

By all means use some time to be alone, salute thyself, see what thy soul doth wear.

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Rainer Maria Rilke

And still it is not enough to have memories. One must be able to forget them when they are many, and one must have the great patience to wait until they come again. For it is not yet the memories themselves. Not until they have turned to blood within us, to glance, to gesture, nameless and no longer to be distinguished from ourselves - not until then can it happen that in a most rare hour the first word of a verse arises in their midst and goes forth from them.

Blood, Memories, Nameless, Waiting, Word