We are sick of war, we don't want to fight, And yet we gorge ourselves upon the dead.
Sometimes I’d get mad because things didn’t work out so well, I’d spoil a flapjack, or slip in the snowfield while getting water, or one time my shovel went sailing down into the gorge, and I’d be so mad I’d want to bite the mountaintops and would come in the shack and kick the cupboard and hurt my toe. But let the mind beware, though the flesh be bugged, the circumstances of existence are pretty glorious.
We must be trained to clarify minds, heal broken hearts, and create homes where sunshine will make an environment in which mental and spiritual health may be nurtured. Our schooling must not only teach us how to bridge the Niagara River gorge, or the Golden Gate, but must teach us how to bridge the deep gaps of misunderstanding and hate and discord in the world.
Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
The people in our country and in America and in all West European countries, they have to gorge and guzzle so that they don't even start to think about the fact that we have something to do with Vietnam or what it might be about, OK?
The Negro and all things negroid had become a fad, and Harlem had become a shrine to which feverish pilgrimages were in order. . . Seventh Avenue was the gorge into which Harlem cliff dwellers crowded to promenade.
Drink, live like the Greeks, eat, gorge.
Troubles are only mental; it is the mind that manufactures them, and the mind can gorge them, banish them, abolish them.
At the beginning of meditation training thoughts will arrive one on top of another, uninterrupted, like a steep mountain waterfall. Gradually, as you perfect meditation, thoughts become like the water in a deep, narrow gorge, then a great river slowly winding its way down to the sea; finally the mind becomes like a still and placid ocean, ruffled by only the occasional ripple or wave.
