“If you are unable to meditate, chant your mantra or sing bhajans.”

God realization and self-realization are one and the same. God-realization is nothing but the ability and expansiveness of heart to love everything equally.

Whether we laugh or cry, the days are going to pass by. So why not choose to laugh?

If you see deficiencies in others, your duty is to forgive instead of pointing at it.

In God’s vision, no inside or outside exists. Still, in the beginning, Mother is asking all to meditate on Him in the heart, in order to achieve concentration.

Look at Nature. Nature is a book from which we must learn. Each object in it is a page of that book.

Do no talk while eating.

Problems arise when you identify with your thoughts and emotions. Try to be a witness to the thoughts instead of being totally identified with them.

In most cases, worldly love ends in hatred and deep sorrow.

Most human beings know only the language of exploitation. Due to their selfishness, they are unable to consider others.

The intellect always cuts and divides like a pair of scissors. The heart sews things together and unites like a needle. The tailor uses both.

Peace is not a product of an intellectual exercise. It is an inner blossoming that occurs with meditation.

The impermanent, which is the body, is given too much importance. The permanent, which is the Atman, is completely forgotten. This should change.

Happiness is within everyone, but we are not able to experience it because of our ego’s likes and dislikes.

The indicator of true knowledge is the ability to differentiate what uplifts us from what pulls us down.

What makes Amma happy, is to see her children helping others to feel happy.

Don’t get angry. Try not to speak roughly or use harsh words.

My mother’s father taught English literature. When I was about ten or eleven, I could recite Macaulay’s ‘Lays of Ancient Rome.’ While other kids were playing pedestrian war games, I’d be Horatius keeping the bridge.

There is a time for reciting poems and a time for fists.

I always knew that I was tremendously creative. I recited love poems, I wrote stories and I got excellent grades in every subject, except for maths.

They recite their sacred books, although the fact informs me that these are a fiction from first to last.

She almost doesn’t recognize her children, but she recites Valéry and Baudelaire. So what? We’re the ones who are suffering. She’s not.