Doesn’t the imagination always exaggerate—or diminish—truth?
And this is one of the final things I learn about love: it’s found in its purest form, on this imperfect earth, between mothers and young children, because there’s nothing they want except to make eac...
And if I wasn't able to bar anger, or her insidious cousin, irritation, From my heart, at least some of the time I bit back the sharp comments that I had prided myself on dispensing so freely all thes...
All the way back, I pondered the word endure, what it meant. It didn’t mean giving in. It didn’t mean being weak or accepting injustice. It meant taking the challenges thrown at us and dealing with th...
All of us groping in caverns, our fingertips raw against stone, searching for that slight crack, the edge of a door opening into love.
A wind rose around me, from where I didn't know. It was unexpectedly cold and made me shiver. 'Sacrifice, sacrifice', whispered the trees, carrying my promise across the valley
A situation in itself, he said, is neither happy nor unhappy. It’s only your response to it that causes your sorrow.
Wait for a man to avenge your honor, and you’ll wait forever.
The darkness is a cresting wave. It sweeps me up out of my body until I float among the stars, those tine bright pores on the sky's skin. If only I could pass through them, I would end up on the other...
Sometimes one has to drop logic and go with the instinct of the heart, even if it contradicts law.
Made to the other women when I joined them at night. The pleasures that arise from sense-objects are bound to end, and thus they are only sources of pain. Don’t get attached to them.
Write our story, too. For always we’ve been pushed into corners, trivialized, misunderstood, blamed, forgotten—or maligned and used as cautionary tales.
What is more numerous than the grass? The thoughts that rise in the mind of man. Who is truly wealthy? That man to whom the agreeable and disagreeable, wealth and woe, past and future, are the same. W...
Weeping is not bad. It clears out the heart, making space in it for growth.
Todas las historias tienen muchas versiones distintas. La versión elegida nos revela más acerca del narrador que acerca de la historia.
To return to the peaceful forest, its healing green canopies. To return to the ashram community, where everyone trusts and accepts me,
The herbs and chants weren’t working because of my anger towards Ram. In some dark part of my soul, I wanted him to suffer.
The heart itself is beyond control. That is its power, and its weakness.
The grandfather dropped his weapons and knelt before him. On his face was a look I could only interpret as hope. And have you come to set me free finally, Govinda? he asked.
That's how it is sometimes when we plunge into the depths of our lives. No one can accompany us, not even those who would give up their hearts for our happiness.