Pathmaker, there is no path; You make the path by walking, By walking you make the Path

Wanderer, your footsteps are the road, and nothing more; wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking. By walking one makes the road, and upon glancing behind one sees the path. . .

Travelers, there is no path, paths are made by walking.

My soul is not asleep. It is awake, wide awake. It neither sleeps nor dreams, but watches, its eyes wide open far-off things, and listens at the shores of the great silence.

Beyond living and dreaming there is something more important: waking up.

I thought my fire was out, and stirred the ashes…. I burnt my fingers.

Traveler, there is no path, the path must be forged as you walk.

I dreamt -- marvellous error! -- that I had a beehive here inside my heart. And the golden bees were making white combs and sweet honey from my old failures.

Under all that we think, lives all we believe, like the ultimate veil of our spirits

What the poet is searching for is not the fundamental I but the deep you.

Avoid pulpits, platforms, stages and pedestals. Keep to the hard ground. It is the only way you can judge your approximate status as a man.

The trouble with believing conspiracies is you start seeing them everywhere, right? And everything becomes a part of them. But, of course, the trouble with not believing them is becoming a dupe.

First of all, I think the Saudis are deeply concerned about the collapse of negotiations between the Israelis and the Palestinians and the resumption of conflict.

What is working stain, does not soil.

The pre-human creature from which man evolved was unlike any other living thing in its malicious viciousness toward its own kind. Humanization was not a leap forward but a groping toward survival.

Every single word you have spoken is sharp, sarcastic and twisted. When I thought you were abnormal you suddenly turned out to be normal. When I thought you were normal you turned out to be abnormal.

If people stop having secrets they stop having power.

Empty pockets never held anyone back. Only empty heads and empty hearts can do that.

But the fact a person denies that he is theorising is no reason for taking him at his word and failing to investigate what implicit theory is involved in his statements.

Life was such a strange thing, so permanent when one had it, so fleeting when it was lost- and those who lost it could never tell you what it was like, could they?