Great Throughts Treasury

"When you like someone, you like them in spite of their faults. When you love someone, you love them with their faults."

"When we hate a person, what we hate in his image is something inside ourselves. Whatever isn?t inside us can?t excite us."

"When you listen to radio you are a witness of the everlasting war between idea and appearance, between time and eternity, between the human and the divine. Exactly, my dear sir, as the radio for ten minutes together projects the most lovely music without regard into the most impossible places, into respectable drawing rooms and attics and into the midst of chattering, guzzling, yawning and sleeping listeners, and exactly as it strips this music of its sensuous beauty, spoils and scratches and beslims it and yet cannot altogether destroy its spirit, just so does life, the so-called reality, deal with the sublime picture-play of the world and make a hurly-burley of it."

"Where he had failed at the time my father was able now the torment of love. I devoted myself to the art of drinking. For my life and my character this event was undoubtedly the most important of all those so far narrated. The God strong and sweet she became a faithful friend and still is today. About just as powerful? About equally beautiful, fantastic, enthusiastic, happy and sad? And 'hero and magician, deceiver and brother love. Can the impossible; fills human hearts shabby stuŠpendi, bizarre poems. He has transformed me, hermit and farmer, in king, poet and essay. Loads of new ships destinies of lives that have become empty and urges us once again shipwrecked impetuous current of the great life. So is the wine. It 'similar to all the precious gifts, to all artistic things. Wants to be loved, wanted, he understood and hard-won. Not many can you, thousands will be annihilated. It makes them grow old, or kills them off in them the flame of the spirit. Instead, he invites his favorite at parties and build their bridges iridescent towards happy islands. It puts them, when they are tired, a pillow under his head and around them, when they fall prey to melancholy, in a sweet and affectionate hug, like a friend or a consoling mother. Transforms our chaotic existence in a great myth and plays a harp of impressive hymn of creation. Sometimes it's a child, with long silky curls, shoulders slender and delicate limbs. Clings to your heart and stretches his little face haggard looking your, watching you amazed and out of touch with his loved ones those wide eyes, in whose depths sways moist and bright memories of the earthly paradise and never forgotten divine descent, like a source flowed into the forest. This is the story of my youth. If you look back, it seems to me that it was short as a summer night. And why had he crept incomprehensible God in the heart that burning desire of love, when life had I destined to be lonely and unloved?"

"When you throw a rock into the water, it will speed on the fastest course to the bottom of the water. This is how it is when Siddhartha has a goal, a resolution. Siddhartha does nothing, he waits, he thinks, he fasts, but he passes through the things of the world like a rock through water, without doing anything, without stirring; he is drawn, he lets himself fall. His goal attracts him, because he doesn't let anything enter his soul which might oppose the goal. This is what Siddhartha has learned among the Samanas. This is what fools call magic and which they think is effected by demons. Nothing is effected by demons, there are no demons. Everyone can perform magic, everyone can reach his goals, if he is able to think, if he is able to wait, if he is able to fast."

"Where is the place for the strength to serve the best and produce the best fruit?"

"Whether it is good or evil, whether life in itself is pain or pleasure, whether it is uncertain-that it may perhaps be this is not important-but the unity of the world, the coherence of all events, the embracing of the big and the small from the same stream, from the same law of cause, of becoming and dying."

"Whew! How can become anything pension strange for someone can escape out of his hand! The entire year with thousands of experiments can be lost from someone."

"Whenever he is hungry and opens his bag, there are only pearls inside."

"Which father, which teacher has to protect him from himself to live life, even to defile yourself with life, even to load the blame on to drink the bitter potion himself, himself find his way? Do you think, dear, this way remains anyone might save? Maybe your son because you love it because you like to wish to avoid suffering and pain and disappointment to him? Aaber even if you ten times strbest for him, you would not he can pick up the smallest part of his destiny with it."

"While one is singing one does not think about whether the singing is useful. One simply sings."

"Whither will my path yet lead me? This path is stupid, it goes in spirals, perhaps in circles, but whichever way it goes, I will follow it."

"Who protected Siddhartha the Samana from Samsara, from sin, greed and folly? Could his father?s piety, his teacher?s exhortations, his own knowledge, his own seeking, protect him? Which father, which teacher, could prevent him from living his own life, from soiling himself with life, from loading himself with sin, from swallowing the bitter drink himself, from finding his own path? Do you think, my dear friend, that anybody is spared this path? Perhaps your little son, because you would like to see him spared sorrow and pain and disillusionment? But if you were to die ten times for him, you would not alter his destiny in the slightest."

"Whoever wants to be born, have to break a world."

"Whoever wants music instead of noise, joy instead of pleasure, soul instead of gold, creative work instead of business, passion instead of foolery, finds no home in this trivial world of ours."

"Whoever knew how to live the moment, who lived in this current way and who knew how to appreciate so carefully and kindly every little flower of the road, every small and insignificant value of the moment, this one was above everything and did not care about Life."

"Why was it, do you think, I was able to recognize you and understand you? Why, Hermine? Tell me! Because it's the same for me as you because I am alone exactly as you are, because I'm as little fond of life and people and myself as you are and can put up with them as little. There are always a few such people who demand the utmost of life and yet cannot come to terms with its stupidity and crudeness."

"Whoever wants to live and enjoys his life today must not be like you and me. Whoever wants music instead of noise, joy instead of pleasure, soul instead of gold, creative work instead of business, passion instead of foolery, finds no home in this trivial world of ours"

"Who takes droning music, take pleasure joy, instead of money soul, instead of operating real work instead gimmick real passion required for this pretty world is here no home."

"Wisdom is not communicative. The wisdom that a wise tries to communicate always sounds like foolishness. You can transmit knowledge but not wisdom."

"Wisdom cannot be imparted. Wisdom that a wise man attempts to impart always sounds like foolishness to someone else ... Knowledge can be communicated, but not wisdom. One can find it, live it, do wonders through it, but one cannot communicate and teach it."

"Wisdom cannot be passed on. Wisdom which a wise man tries to pass on to someone always sounds like foolishness."

"Wisdom does not accept the delivery, and the wisdom that the great man is trying to connect to others always seem foolish, knowledge can be Pluggable The wisdom there, and one can find the wisdom and emboldened them and made marvels through it, but it cannot be connected and taught to others ."

"With a secret smile, not unlike that of a healthy child, he walked along, peacefully, quietly. He wore his gown and walked along exactly like the other monks, but his face and his step, his peaceful downward glance, his peaceful downward-hanging hand, and every finger of his hand spoke of peace, spoke of completeness, sought nothing, imitated nothing, reflected a continuous quiet, an unfading light, an invulnerable peace."

"With a thousand eyes, the river looked at him."

"wished that he would also be gifted with the ability to participate in all of this childlike-naive occupations of the daytime with passion and with his heart, really to live, really to act, really to enjoy and to live instead of just standing by as a spectator."

"With her, too, I danced more easily now, in a freer and more sprightly fashion, even though not so buoyantly and more self-consciously than with the other. Hermine had me lead, adapting herself as softly and lightly as the leaf of a flower, and with her, too, I now experienced all these delights that now advanced and now took wing. She, too, now exhaled the perfume of woman and love, and her dancing, too, sang with intimate tenderness the lovely and enchanting song of sex."

"With a smile, the man at the oar moved from side to side: It is beautiful, sir, it is as you say. But is not every life, is not every work beautiful?"

"With grief, but also with laughter, he thought of that time."

"With men one could have clever, uplifting conversations, and men understood the work of an artist; but everything else-idle talk, tenderness, playfulness, love, contentment unmarred by thought-did not flourish among men; for that there had to be women and new places and constantly new impressions."

"With pounding heart I felt the anguish of all anxieties: fear of death. Although he saw no other option, even though around is disgust, pain and despair piled up, even when nothing was able to seduce me, or give me joy or hope."

"Without You: My Pillow gazes upon me at night empty as a gravestone; I never thought it would be so bitter to be alone, not to lie down asleep in your hair. I lie alone in a silent house, the hanging lamp darkened, and gently stretch out my hands to gather in yours, and softly press my warm mouth toward you, and kiss myself, exhausted and weak - Then suddenly I'm awake and all around me the cold night grows still. The star in the window shines clearly - where is your blond hair, where your sweet mouth? Now I drink pain in every delight and poison in every wine; I never knew it would be so bitter to be alone, alone, without you."

"Without words, without writing and without books there would be no history, there could be no concept of humanity."

"Without a mother you cannot die."

"Within you, there is a stillness and a sanctuary to which you can retreat at any time and be yourself."

"Within Siddhartha there slowly grew and ripened the knowledge of what wisdom really was and the goal of his long seeking. It was nothing but a preparation of the soul, a capacity, a secret art of thinking, feeling and breathing thoughts of unity at every moment of life. This thought matured in him slowly, and it was reflected in Vasudeva's old childlike face: harmony, knowledge of the eternal perfection of the world, and unity."

"Workshops, churches, and palaces were full of these fatal works of art; he had even helped with a few himself. They were deeply disappointing because they aroused the desire for the highest and did not fulfill it. They lacked to most essential thing?mystery. That was what dreams and truly great works of art had in common: mystery... It is mystery I love and pursue."

"Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish. And yet it also pleases me and seems right that what is of value and wisdom to one man seems nonsense to another."

"Words are not good for the secret meaning; everything always becomes a little bit different the moment one speaks it aloud, a bit falsified, a bit foolish?yes, and this too is also very good and pleases me greatly: that one person?s treasure and wisdom always sounds like foolishness to others."

"Would you actually believe that you had committed your foolish acts in order to spare your son from committing them too? And could you in any way protect your son from Samsara? How could you? By means of teachings, prayer, admonition? My dear, have you entirely forgotten that story, that story containing so many lessons, that story about Siddhartha, a Brahman's son, which you once told me here on this very spot? Who has kept the Samana Siddhartha safe from Samsara, from sin, from greed, from foolishness? Were his father's religious devotion, his teachers? warnings, his own knowledge, his own search able to keep him safe? Which father, which teacher had been able to protect him from living his life for himself, from soiling himself with life, from burdening himself with guilt, from drinking the bitter drink for himself, from finding his path for himself? Would you think, my dear, anybody might perhaps be spared from taking this path? That perhaps your little son would be spared, because you love him, because you would like to keep him from suffering and pain and disappointment? But even if you would die ten times for him, you would not be able to take the slightest part of his destiny upon yourself."

"Yes Siddhartha,' he said. 'Is this what you mean: that the river is in all places at once, at its source and where it flows into the sea, at the waterfall, at the ferry, at the rapids, in the ocean, in the mountains, everywhere at once, so for the river there is only the present moment and not the shadow of the future?'"

"Writing is good, thinking is better. Being smart is good, being patient is better."

"Writing is good thing, but it is better to think. Prudence is good, but patience is better."

"Yes, no doubt, would this pain, even this destitution are old and tired, too, he would forget. Nothing had inventory, not the suffering."

"Yes, what we are doing is probably mad, and probably it is good and necessary all the same. It is not a good thing when man overstrains his reason and tries to reduce to rational order matters that are susceptible of rational treatment. Then there arise ideals such as those of the Americans or of the Bolsheviks. Both are extraordinarily rational, and both lead to a frightful oppression and impoverishment of life, because they simplify it so crudely. The likeness of man, once a high ideal, is in process of becoming a machine-made article. It is for madmen like us, perhaps, to ennoble it again."

"Yes, so it was, everything came back, which had not been suffered and solved up to its end, the same pain was suffered over and over again."

"Yes, one has to find his dream, and then the path becomes easy. But no enduring dream. Are replaced each other and we should not strive to retain any."

"Yes, you have to find his dream, then the way is easy. But there is no everlasting dream, each solves a new starting, and no one may want to keep."

"You are clever, O Samana, said the Illustrious One, you know how to speak cleverly, my friend. Be on your guard against too much cleverness."

"Yes. Max told me, Sinclair now has to overcome the most difficult. You are trying to take refuge in the mass; until it has become a regular customer of the taverns. But he did not get. Your stigma is hidden but burns in secret."