Thinking is an expedition into quietness.

The mind was a marvellous instrument, thought Shimrod; when left to wander untended, it often arrived at curious destinations.

To communicate through silence is a link between the thoughts of man.

The mind was dreaming. The world was its dream.

We can make our minds so like still water that beings gather about us that they may see, it may be, their own images, and so live for a moment with a clearer, perhaps even with a fiercer life because of our quiet.

If the Col­onel were not burdened with a mind, he would be able to think more clearly.

Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking. Live in silence. Flow down and down in always widening rings of being.

Quiet the mind and the soul will speak

I paused to listen to the silence. My breath, crystallized as it passed my cheeks, drifted on a breeze gentler than a whisper. The wind vane pointed toward the South Pole. Presently the wind cups ceased their gentle turning as the cold killed the breeze. My frozen breath hung like a cloud overhead. The day was dying, the night being born — but with great peace. Here were the imponderable processes and forces of the cosmos, harmonious and soundless. Harmony, that was it! That was what came out of the silence — a gentle rhythm, the strain of a perfect chord, the music of the spheres, perhaps. It was enough to catch that rhythm, momentarily to be myself a part of it. In that instant I could feel no doubt of man's oneness with the universe. The conviction came that the rhythm was too orderly, too harmonious, too perfect to be a product of blind chance — that, therefore, there must be purpose in the whole and that man was part of that whole and not an accidental offshoot. It was a feeling that transcended reason; that went to the heart of man's despair and found it groundless. The universe was a cosmos, not a chaos; man was rightfully a part of that cosmos as were the day and night.

By words the mind is winged.

In the stillness of the mind, I saw myself as I am: unbound.

The sky was clear — remarkably clear — and the twinkling of all the stars seemed to be but throbs of one body, timed by a common pulse.

The mind can go in a thousand directions, but on this beautiful path, I walk in peace. With each step, the wind blows. With each step, a flower blooms.

Solitude lets us share in the divine Mind, and brings us close to limpidity of mind in a short time, without any hindrance.