Why should we be afraid of Nature, which is no other than philosophy and theology embodied?  Why should we fear to be crushed by savage elements, we who are made up of the same elements?  Let us build an altar to the Beautiful Necessity, which makes man brave in believing that he cannot shun a danger that is appointed, nor incur one that is not; to the Necessity which rudely or softly educates him to the perception that there are no contingencies; that Law rules throughout existence, a Law which is not intelligent but intelligence,--not personal nor impersonal,--it disdains words and passes understanding; it dissolves persons; it vivifies nature; yet solicits the pure in heart to draw on all its omnipotence.

The foregoing generations beheld God and nature face to face; we, through their eyes.  Why should not we also enjoy an original relation to the universe?  Why should not we have a poetry and a philosophy of insight and not of tradition, and a religion by revelation to us, and not the history of theirs?

When two people are at one in their inmost hearts, they shatter even the strength of iron or bronze, and when two people understand each other in their inmost hearts, their words are sweet and strong like the fragrance of orchids.

The lover knows much more about absolute good and universal beauty than any logician or theologian, unless the latter, too, be lovers in disguise.

He who realizes the truth of the body can then come to know the truth of the universe.

Love and the self are one, and the discovery of either is the realization of both.

From this hour I ordain myself loosed of limits, and imaginary lines, Going where I list, my own master, total and absolute, Listening to others, and considering well what they say, Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating, Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.  I inhale great draughts of space, The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.  I am larger, better than I thought, I did not know I held so much goodness.

All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but the ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame.