Quotes About Mind

Trying to get lasting security teaches us a lot, because if we never try to do it, we never notice that it can't be done. Turning our minds toward the dharma speeds up the process of discovery.

How do we work with our minds when we meet our match? Rather than indulge or reject our experience, we can somehow let the energy of the emotion, the quality of what we're feeling, pierce us to the heart. This is easier said than done, but it's a noble way to live. It's definitely the path of compassion—the path of cultivating human bravery and kindheartedness. In the teachings of Buddhism, we

It has been said, quite accurately, that a psychotic person is drowning in the very same things that a mystic swims in.

In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's there are few." At

When our mind is full of the warmth of humor, we are in touch with the best of ourselves.

It was just as Trungpa Rinpoche used to say, "When your mind is big, thoughts are like mosquitoes buzzing around with nowhere to land.

that a psychotic person is drowning in the very same things that a mystic swims in.

our minds wander off into all kinds of stories and fabrications and manufactured realities

All ego really is, is our opinions, which we take to be solid, real, and the absolute truth about how things are.

everything that occurs in our confused mind we can regard as the path.

The body, then, has a mind of its own. It must follow, then, that the Mind has a body of its own, even if it's like nothing that we can see around us, or have ever seen.

Es un buen libro y, por lo tanto, debería intentar vendérselo a los habitantes de Hardborough. No lo entenderán, pero será mejor así. Entender las cosas hace que la mente se vuelva perezosa.

It is a good book, and therefore you should try to sell it to the inhabitants of Hardborough. They won't understand it, but that is all to the good. Understanding makes the mind lazy.

You write out of experience, and a large part of that experience is the life of the spirit; reading is the liberation into the minds of others.

You have this comet trail of your own lived life, sparks from which arrive in the head all the time, whether you want them or not - life has been lived but it is still all going on, in the mind for better and for worse.

Old age is an insult. Old age is a slap in the face. It sabotages a fine mind (...).

Books are the mind's ballast, for so many of us--the cargo that makes us what we are, a freight that is ephemeral and indelible, half-forgotten but leaving an imprint. They are nutrition, too. My old age fear is not being able to read--the worst deprivation. Or no longer having my books around me: the familiar, eclectic, explanatory assemblage that hitches me to the wide world, that has freed me from the prison of myself, that has helped me to think, and to write.

He realised that he was probably unwell in some way, but it did not seem to be a state of ill health about which anything could be done; you could not go to the doctor and say that you didn't know what season it was.

Helen racked her brains. Advice? Surely they needed advice? Of course they needed advice; she reviewed, in a flash, the whole unsatisfactory condition of Greystones, of her state of mind, of life itself. How can we stop the drain flooding whenever it rains? Why do I have to feel guilty because my mother has died? How can I achieve a comforting complacency?

Sixty-seven-year-old Claudia, on a pavement awash with packaged American matrons, crying not in grief but in wonder that nothing is ever lost, that everything can be retrieved, that a lifetime is not linear but instant. That, inside the head, everything happens at once.

Sometimes thoughts merely pass through a man's head without mishap, but sometimes they fall out of his mouth on the way through.

How can I possess with my body, when I don't even possess my body? How can I possess with my soul, when I don't possess my soul? How can I understand with my mind, when I don't understand my mind? There is no body or truth we possess, nor even any illusion. We are phantoms made of lies, shadows of illusions, and our life is hollow on both the outside and the inside.

figuring out was is real isn't always possible, because our own brains are telling us stories

I came to realize that my grandmother's stories were part of time and not part of time, part of place and not part of place, part of the stuff that is stored in the mind's honeycomb.