“Life here with the things of the earth is a sinking, a defeat, a failing of the wing.”

The stars are like letters that inscribe themselves at every moment in the sky.

Mankind is poised midway between the gods and the beasts.

In this state of absorbed contemplation, there is no longer any question of holding an object in view.

There is one and the same soul in many bodies.

Beauty addresses itself chiefly to sight, but there is a beauty for the hearing too.

If someone with the right conduct tries to attain to something that lies outside of it, is his goal not the right conduct.

Before we had our becoming here, we existed There, men other than now; we were pure souls.

One word was uttered and from every side an ear attended and received and there was an effective hearing.

It is bad enough to be condemned to drag around this image in which nature has imprisoned me.

Knowing ourselves, we are beautiful; in self-ignorance, we are ugly.

Clearly, either in the Soul alone, or in the Soul as employing the body, or in some third entity deriving from both. And for this third entity, again, there are two possible modes: it might be either a blend or a distinct form due to the blending.

One principle must make the universe a single complex living creature, one from all.

I am striving to give back the Divine in myself to the Divine in the All.

Nature is but an image of wisdom, the last thing of the soul; nature being a thing which doth only do, but not know.

The sculptor cuts away here, smoothes there, makes this line lighter, this other purer, until he or she has shown a beautiful face upon the statue.

All things are filled full of signs, and it is a wise man who can learn about one thing from another.