Quotes About Meditation

Still, there's no harm in putting a full stop to one's disagreeable thoughts by looking at a mark on the wall... Here is something definite, something real. thus, waking from a midnight dream of horror, one hastily turns on the light and lies quiescent, worshipping the chest of drawers, worshipping solidity, worshipping reality, worshipping the impersonal world which is proof of some existence other than ours.

Strolling through those colleges past those ancient halls the roughness of the present seemed smoothed away; the body seemed contained in a miraculous glass cabinet through which no sound could penetrate, and the mind, freed from any contact with facts

One ought to sink to the bottom of the sea, probably, and live alone with ones words

But for a moment I had sat on the turf somewhere high above the flow of the sea and the sound of the woods, had seen the house, the garden, and the waves breaking. The old nurse who turns the pages of the picture book had stopped and had said, 'Look. This is the truth.

Talk of solitude (...). It is the last resort of the civilised: our souls are so creased and soured in meaning we can only unfold them when we are alone. (5/4/1927 - From a Letter to Vita Sackville-West)

The weekly creak and screech of brains rinsed in cold water and wrung dry

Magában lehet, egyedül. S mostanában erre gyakran van szüksége - hogy gondolkozzék. Hogy ne kelljen beszélnie, egyedül legyen. Az egész lét, minden, amit teszünk, dallamos, ragyogó, lelkesítÅ', elillan, s ünnepélyes érzéssel önmagunkká, legigazibb lényünkké zsugorodunk, a sötétség ék alakú, mások számára láthatatlan magvává.

One must strain off what was personal and accidental in all these impressions and so reach the pure fluid, the essential oil of truth.

Mert vannak pillanatok, amikor az ember sem gondolkozni, sem érezni nem tud. S ha nem érezünk, sem nem gondolkozunk, akkor?...t?nÅ'dött.

Nothing in the world pleases her so well as solitude. She is happiest alone in the country. She loves rambling alone in her woods. She loves going out by herself at night. She loves hiding from callers. She loves walking among her trees and musing.

Mr. Carmichael, who was basking with his yellow cat's eyes ajar, so that like a cat's they seemed to reflect the branches moving or the clouds passing, but to give no inkling of any inner thoughts or emotion whatsoever, if he wanted anything.

For now, she need not think about anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of—to think; well, not even to think. To be silent; to be alone.

she often went into her garden and got from her flowers a peace which men and women never gave her.

She stood there: she listened. She heard the names of the stars.

Era solo da sempre.

You have to grow from the inside out. None can teach you, none can make you spiritual. There is no other teacher but your own soul.

We are what our thoughts have made us; so take care about what you think. Words are secondary. Thoughts live; they travel far.

Solitude is the playfield of Satan.

I had always thought that wringing one's hands was a fictional gesture — the obscure outcome, perhaps, of some medieval ritual; but as I took to the woods, for a spell of despair and desperate meditation, this was the gesture ("look, Lord, at these chains!") that would have come nearest to the mute expression of my mood.

It is a singular reaction, this sitting still and writing, writing, writing, or ruminating at length, which is much the same, really.

Solitude is the playfield of Satan. I

It did not matter, it did not matter. Destroy and forget! But a butterfly in the Park, an orchid in a shop window, would revive everything with a dazzling inward shock of despair... When he could not sleep, as now often happened... he would walk up and down the open terrace, under a haze of stars, in severely restricted meditation, till the first tramcar jangled and screeched in the dawning abyss of the city.

In this very special self-hypnotic state there can be no question of getting out of touch with on[e]self and floating into a normal sleep (unless you are very tired at the start)

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