Without hope of reward Provide help to others. Bear suffering alone, And share your pleasures with beggars.

All philosophies are mental fabrications. There has never been a single doctrine by which one could enter the true essence of things.

A person is not earth, not water, Not fire, not wind, not space, Not consciousness, and not all of them. What person is there other than these?

Someone who has acted carelessly, But later becomes careful and attentive, Is as beautiful as the bright moon emerging from the clouds.

The Buddha taught some people the teachings of duality that help them avoid sin and acquire spiritual merit. To others he taught non-duality, that some find profoundly frightening.

Because there are no phenomena which are not dependent arisings, there are no phenomena which are not void.

Things derive their being and nature by mutual dependence and are nothing in themselves.

So, to praise others for their virtues - Can but encourage one's own efforts

That which arises dependent on something is not in the least that thing, neither is it different from it. Therefore, it is neither permanent or nothing.

Ultimate serenity is the coming to rest of all ways of taking things, the repose of named things; no truth has been taught by a Buddha for anyone, anywhere.

There is pleasure when a sore is scratched, But to be without sores is more pleasurable still. Just so, there are pleasures in worldly desires, But to be without desires is more pleasurable still.

You have to passionately want it to possess it.

The Skinned Men kill again.

With some we’re certain our hearts must’ve been acquainted long before we have ever met them.

Every single substitute teacher growing up could not pronounce my name, so whenever someone pauses, I'm like, "Oh, that's me."

Long, dark, and lovely she had been, in those days before her mind broke and the parts scattered and she let them go.

She wrote to him fairly regularly, from a paradise of triple exclamation points and inaccurate observations.

Nora Roberts is cool.

The vast majority of fiction is written to markets and to this damnable business we have nowadays of categorizing everything.

And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, "It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see," quoth he, "how the world wags."

When we change the input into our minds, we change the output into our lives.