“Death is nothing, nor life either, for that matter. To die, to sleep, to pass into nothingness, what does it matter? Everything is an illusion.”

I have encountered in this world riff-raff and good people. I lose. I win. I defend myself when I am attacked. I take when someone has taken from me. But I beg you to believe me; I have never done an act of espionage against France. Never. Never.

My dance is a sacred poem in which each movement is a word and whose every word is underlined by music. The temple in which I dance can be vague or faithfully reproduced, for I am the temple.

Everything is an illusion.

I was not content at home. . . I wanted to live like a colorful butterfly in the sun.

The dance is a poem of which each movement is a word.

I am a woman who enjoys herself very much; sometimes I lose, sometimes I win.

Truth is simple, but Illusion makes it infinitely intricate. The person is rare who possesses an insatiable longing for Truth; the rest allow Illusion to bind them ever more and more.

All knowledge that is not the real product of observation, or of consequences deduced from observation, is entirely groundless and illusory.

Realization is to get rid of the delusion that you have not realized.

The world is illusory, Only Brahman is real, Brahman is the world

The search “Who am I” ends in the annihilation of the illusory “I” and the Self which remains over will be as clear as a gooseberry in the palm of one’s hand.

Bliss is a thing which is always there and is not something which comes and goes. That which comes and goes is a creation of the mind.

Maybe I expected you to be something that you were just never going to be.

I think that in life, being is nothing but an illusion. If we acknowledge that and accept the fact that we are in between states, that we are moving, and this movement is the nature of our lives