Quintessence Quotes

It is easy enough to be friendly to one's friends. But to befriend the one who regards himself as your enemy is the quintessence of true religion. The other is mere business.

The liar's punishment is, not in the least that he is not believed, but that he cannot believe anyone else.

For books are more than books, they are the life, the very heart and core of ages past, the reason why men worked and died, the essence and quintessence of their lives.

What piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving, how express and admirable in action, how like an angel in apprehension, how like a god! The beauty of the world. The paragon of animals. And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

The inexpressible depth of music, so easy to understand and yet so inexplicable, is due to the fact that it reproduces all the emotions of our innermost being, but entirely without reality and remote from its pain… Music expresses only the quintessence of life and its events, never these themselves.

This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

A poet makes himself a visionary through a long, boundless, and systematized disorganization of all the senses. All forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he searches himself, he exhausts within himself all poisons, and preserves their quintessences. Unspeakable torment, where he will need the greatest faith, a superhuman strength, where he becomes all men the great invalid, the great criminal, the great accursed--and the Supreme Scientist! For he attains the unknown! Because he has cultivated his soul, already rich, more than anyone! He attains the unknown, and if, demented, he finally loses the understanding of his visions, he will at least have seen them! So what if he is destroyed in his ecstatic flight through things unheard of, unnameable: other horrible workers will come; they will begin at the horizons where the first one has fallen!

All my life one of my greatest desires has been to travel-to see and touch unknown countries, to swim in unknown seas, to circle the globe, observing new lands, seas, people, and ideas with insatiable appetite, to see everything for the first time and for the last time, casting a slow, prolonged glance, then to close my eyes and feel the riches deposit themselves inside me calmly or stormily according to their pleasure, until time passes them at last through its fine sieve, straining the quintessence out of all the joys and sorrows.

For books are more than books, they are the life The very heart and core of ages past, The reason why men lived and worked and died, The essence and quintessence of their lives.

The inexpressible depth of music, so easy to understand and yet so inexplicable, is due to the fact that it reproduces all the emotions of our innermost being, but entirely without reality and remote from its pain...Music expresses only the quintessence of life and of its events, never these themselves.

The plain working truth is that it is not only good for people to be shocked occasionally, but absolutely necessary to the progress of society that they should be shocked pretty often.

Man is a microcosm, or a little world, because he is an extract from all the stars and planets of the whole firmament, from the earth and the elements; and so he is their quintessence.

Suppose within each book there is another book, and within every letter on every page another volume constantly unfolding; but these volumes take no space on the desk. Suppose knowledge could be reduced to a quintessence, held within a picture, a sign, held within a place which is no place. Suppose the human skull were to become capacious, spaces opening inside it, humming chambers like beehives.

The poet makes himself a voyant through a long, immense reasoned deranging of all his senses. All the forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he tries to find himself, he exhausts in himself all the poisons, to keep only their quintessences.

When we fail to tend to the fragilities of a flower as we become distracted by the noise of our minds, our plant is essentially dying. The quintessence of dying in the sense that we are failing to be mindful of the present moment, for life is the paradox of both living and dying concurrently. Just as we are living each moment, we are dying with every moment, and the essence of living is within each breath that ultimately comprises life as a whole.

Aristotle taught that stars are made of a different matter than the four earthly elements— a quintessence— that also happens to be what the human psyche is made of. Which is why man’s spirit corresponds to the stars. Perhaps that’s not a very scientific view, but I do like the idea that there’s a little starlight in each of us.

She did not just seem difficult – in his eyes she was the very quintessence of difficult.

The juice of the grape is the liquid quintessence of concentrated sunbeams.

Our Higher Self is perfect, Omniscient and Almighty. A fragment of God himself. A pure, transparent, luminous, Quintessence.

The first study for the man who wants to be a poet is knowledge of himself, complete: he searches for his soul, he inspects it, he puts it to the test, he learns it. As soon as he has learned it, he must cultivate it! I say that one must be a seer, make oneself a seer. The poet becomes a seer through a long, immense, and reasoned derangement of all the senses. All shapes of love suffering, madness. He searches himself, he exhausts all poisons in himself, to keep only the quintessences. Ineffable torture where he needs all his faith, all his superhuman strength, where he becomes among all men the great patient, the great criminal, the great accursed one--and the supreme Scholar! For he reaches the unknown! ....So the poet is actually a thief of Fire!

What a piece of work is a man! How noble in Reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an Angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! and yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no, nor Woman neither; though by your smiling you seem to say so.

I have of late—but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me—no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.

They were stars on this stage, each playing to an audience of two: the passion of their pretense created the actuality. Here, finally, was the quintessence of self-expression-- yet it was probable that for the most part their love expressed Gloria rather than Anthony. He felt often like a scarecly tolerated guest at a party she was giving.

What a piece of work is a man! How noble is reason! how infinite in faculty! in form, in moving, how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no, nor woman neither, though, by your smiling, you seem to say so.

What is wild cannot be bought or sold, borrowed or copied. It is. Unmistakable, unforgettable, unshakable, elemental as earth and ice, water, fire and air, a quintessence, pure spirit, resolving into no constituents. Don't waste your wildness: it is precious and necessary.

Indeed, it is a kind of quintessence of pride to hate and fear even the kind and legitimate approval of those who love us! I mean, to resent it as a humiliating patronage.

….So much crueller than any British colony, they say, so much more brutal towards the local Africans, so much more manipulative after begrudgingly granting independence. But the history of British colonialism in Africa, from Sierra Leone to Zimbabwe, Kenya to Botswana and else-where, is not fundamentally different from what Belgium did in the Congo. You can argue about degree, but both systems were predicated on the same assumption: that white outsiders knew best and Africans were to be treated not as partners, but as underlings. What the British did in Kenya to suppress the pro-independence mau-mau uprising in the 1950s, using murder, torture and mass imprisonment, was no more excusable than the mass arrests and political assassinations committed by Belgium when it was trying to cling on to the Congo. And the outside world's tolerance of a dictator in the Congo like Mobutu, whose corruption and venality were overlooked for strategic expedience, was no different from what happened in Zimbabwe, where the dictator Robert Mugabe was allowed to run his country and its people into the ground because Western powers gullibly accepted the way he presented himself as the only leader able to guarantee stability and an end to civil strife. Those sniffy British colonial types might not like to admit it, but the Congo represents the quintessence of the entire continent’s colonial experience. It might be extreme and it might be shocking, but what happened in the Congo is nothing but colonialism in its purest, basest form.

Do not shorten the morning by getting up late, or waste it in unworthy occupations or in talk; look upon it as the quintessence of life, as to a certain extent sacred. Evening is like old age: we are languid, talkative, silly. Each day is a little life: every waking and rising a little birth, every fresh morning a little youth, every going to rest and sleep a little death.

She breathes in as I breathe out and her lungs fill with the air that was inside of me. I love her completely and I love giving her life as she gives me life. I breathe in her quintessence and it’s cathartic.

It is an understatement to say that in this society injustices abound: In truth it is itself the quintessence of injustice.

I realized that sorrow is an important word for defining the world. It lies at the foundation of everything, it is the fifth element, the quintessence.

Everything remembered, everything thought, all awareness becomes base, frame, pedestal, lock and key of his ownership. Period, region, craft, previous owners - all, for the true collector, merge in each one of his possessions into a magical encyclopaedia whose quintessence is the fate of his object.

It is, I believe, the primary charm of poetry to give the lesson of mirage, that is, to show the fragile and vibrant movement of creation, in which the word is in a certain way human quintessence, prayer.

Huh. I’m not sure how to respond to this. Is Alex Trebek black? He sure doesn’t look black. He looks pretty white to me. He looks like the quintessence, the very incarnation, of whiteness.

Non-injury to all living beings is the only religion.” (first truth of Jainism) “In happiness and suffering, in joy and grief, we should regard all creatures as we regard our own self, and should therefore refrain from inflicting upon others such injury as would appear undesirable to us if inflicted upon ourselves.” “This is the quintessence of wisdom; not to kill anything. All breathing, existing, living sentient creatures should not be slain, nor treated with violence, nor abused, nor tormented, nor driven away. This is the pure unchangeable Law. Therefore, cease to injure living things.” “All living things love their life, desire pleasure and do not like pain; they dislike any injury to themselves; everybody is desirous of life and to every being, his life is very dear.” Yogashastra (Jain Scripture) (c. 500 BCE)

The classical anthropological question, What is man?—"how like an angel, this quintessence of dust!"—is not now asked by anthropologists. Instead, they commence with a chapter on Physical Anthropology and then forget the whole topic and go on to Culture.

Do you have any idea how mad you sound?’ ‘Indeed I do. I have in moments of doubt considered the question of my sanity.’ (...) ‘And?’ ‘Then I consider what a piece of work is man. How defective in reason, how mean his facilities, how ugly in form and movement, in action how like a devil, in apprehension how like a cow. The beauty of the world? The paragon of animals? To me the quintessence of dust.

To be is to be the value of a bound variable.

Did you ever sleep in a field of orange-trees in bloom? The air which one inhales deliciously is a quintessence of perfumes. This powerful and sweet smell, as savoury as a sweetmeat, seems to penetrate one, to impregnate, to intoxicate, to induce languor, to bring about a dreamy and somnolent torpor. It is like opium prepared by fairy hands and not by chemists.

It is better not to love, if loving only means hating others. That is no love. That is hell! If loving your own people means hating everybody else, it is the quintessence of selfishness and brutality, and the effect is that it will make you brutes. Therefore, better die working out your own natural religion than following another’s natural religion, however great it may appear to you

The wonderful love of a beautiful maid, The love of a staunch true man, The love of a baby, unafraid, Have existed since time began. But the greatest of loves, The quintessence of loves. even greater than that of a mother, Is the tender, passionate, infinite love, of one drunken Marine for another. "Semper Fidelis

The solutions put forth by imperialism are the quintessence of simplicity...When they speak of the problems of population and birth, they are in no way moved by concepts related to the interests of the family or of society...Just when science and technology are making incredible advances in all fields, they resort to technology to suppress revolutions and ask the help of science to prevent population growth. In short, the peoples are not to make revolutions, and women are not to give birth. This sums up the philosophy of imperialism.

Among the myrtles the mantids moved, lightly, carefully, swaying slightly, the quintessence of evil. They were lank and green, with chinless faces and monstrous globular eyes, frosty gold, with an expression of intense, predatory madness in them. The crooked arms, with their fringes of sharp teeth, would be raised in mock supplication to the insect world, so humble, so fervent, trembling slightly when a butterfly flew too close.

This is not (as you have charged) to paint religion with a broad brush. I am very quick to distinguish gradations of bad ideas; some clearly have no consequences at all (or at least not yet); some put civilization itself in peril. The problem with dogmatism, however, is that one can never quite predict how terrible its costs will be. To use one of my favorite examples, consider the Christian dogma that human life begins at the moment of conception: On its face, this belief seems likely to only improve our world. After all, it is the very quintessence of a life-affirming doctrine. Enter embryonic stem-cell research. Suddenly, this “life begins at the moment of conception” business becomes the chief impediment to medical progress. Who would have thought that such an innocuous idea could unnecessarily prolong the agony of tens of millions of people? This is the problem with dogmatism, no matter how seemingly benign: it is unresponsive to reality. Dogmatism is a failure of cognition (as well as a commitment to such failure); it is the state of being closed to new evidence and new arguments. And this frame of mind is rightly despised in every area of culture, on every subject, except where it goes by the name of “religious faith.” In this guise, parading its most grotesque faults as virtues, it is granted a special dispensation, even in the pages of Nature.

The noblest relationship is marriage, that is, love. Its nobility resides in its altruism, the desire to serve another beyond all the pleasures of the relationship; and in its refusal ever to regard the other as a thing, an object, a utilizability. Sex is an exchange of pleasures, of needs; love is a giving without return. It is this giving without return, this helping without reward, this surplus of pure good, that identifies the uniqueness of man as well as the true nature of the true marriage. This is the quintessence the great alchemy of sex is for.

Psychohistory was the quintessence of sociology; it was the science of human behavior reduced to mathematical equations. The individual human being is unpredictable, but the reactions of human mobs, Seldon found, could be treated statistically.

The human mind and body are truly extraordinary. They are the quintessence of excellence in motion. We talk, touch, see, hear, taste, smell, and feel. We dream, aspire, and become. All that we are is mind and body and spirit—that is our universe.

I know not what quintessence of all this mixture, which, seizing my whole will, carried it to plunge and lose itself in his, and that having seized his whole will, brought it back with equal concurrence and appetite to plunge and lose itself in mine.

When we presume to lie for the benefit of others, we have decided that we are the best judges of how much they should understand about their own lives—about how they appear, their reputations, or their prospects in the world. This is an extraordinary stance to adopt toward other human beings, and it requires justification. Unless someone is suicidal or otherwise on the brink, deciding how much he should know about himself seems the quintessence of arrogance. What attitude could be more disrespectful of those we care about?

What men do to trees mirrors what they do to women.

The colonial world is a Manichean world. It is not enough for the settler to delimit physically, that is to say with the help of the army and the police force, the place of the native. As if to show the totalitarian character of colonial exploitation the settler paints the native as a sort of quintessence of evil. Native society is not simply described as a society lacking in values. It is not enough for the colonist to affirm that those values have disappeared from, or still better never existed in, the colonial world. The native is declared insensible to ethics; he represents not only the absence of values, but also the negation of values. He is, let us dare to admit, the enemy of values, and in this sense he is the absolute evil. He is the corrosive element, destroying all that comes near him; he is the deforming element, disfiguring all that has to do with beauty or morality; he is the depository of maleficent powers, the unconscious and irretrievable instrument of blind forces.

The Poet's Outfit" You saw a broken heart And salvaged its hollow chambers With the quintessence of Vibrancy Desire Prophecy Madness Soul Sin & the wisdom of the over self.

Walpole invented a term, gloomth, to convey the ambience of Gothick; Wyatt’s houses were the very quintessence of gloomth.

A mate bond is very rare and sacred. It’s said to be the calling out of your soul for another; the melding of hearts; the quintessence of life itself.

At times I fancied that every contour of these blasphemous fish-frogs was overflowing with the ultimate quintessence of unknown and inhuman evil.

We are aware that the gods of patriarchy are pale derivatives and reversals of ancient yet always Present Goddess(es). We suspect that phallocentric writers and artists who have even a glimmer of insight are sometimes made uncomfortable by their own state of deception. Those who have any awareness of the heinous crime of reversal which is patriarchy must be in a state of deep conflict and fear of...Her.

...the water was scarcely inviting; for, through fear lest the output of the source should not suffice, the Fathers of the Grotto only allowed the water of the baths to be changed twice a day. And nearly a hundred patients being dipped in the same water, it can be imagined what a terrible soup the latter at last became. All manner of things were found in it, so that it was like a frightful consomme of all ailments, a field of cultivation for every kind of poisonous germ, a quintessence of the most dreaded contagious diseases; the miraculous feature of it all being that men should emerge alive from their immersion in such filth.

I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation Prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the king And queen moult no feather. I have of late--but Wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all Custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily With my disposition that this goodly frame, the Earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most Excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave O'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted With golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to Me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! in form and moving how Express and admirable! in action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the World! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, What is this quintessence of dust? man delights not Me: no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling You seem to say so.

A creative person aspires to devote the core state of their mind fixated upon performing the surge of work that expresses the raw passion driving an evolving notion of their quintessence.

As I gazed at the black-and-white landscape of the Plateau I realized that sorrow is an important word for defining the world. It lies at the foundations of everything, it is the fifth element, the quintessence.

Sin is the quintessence of evil; it has made all the evils that there are & is itself worse than all evils it has made. It is so evil that it is impossible to make it good or lovely by all the arts that can be used.

Here, finally, was the quintessence of self-expression – yet it was probably that for the most part their love expressed Gloria rather than Anthony. He felt often like a scarcely tolerated guest at a party she was giving.

The poet becomes a seer through a long, immense, and reasoned derangement of all the senses. All shapes of love, suffering, madness. He searches himself, he exhausts all poisons in himself, to keep only the quintessences …’ Burroughs,

I felt as though I were plunging into something new and quite abnormal. I had the strangest and most vivid impressions, such as I had never before known in the mountains. There was something unnatural in the way I saw Lachenal and everything around us. I smiled to myself at the paltriness of our efforts, for I could stand apart and watch myself making these efforts. But all sense of exertion was gone, as though there were no longer any gravity. This diaphanous landscape, this quintessence of purity--these were not the mountains I knew: they were the mountains of my dreams (pp.206-207).

As all things come from and are imbued with the quintessence of Spirit, all things are holy and alive in their own right—and anything that has a physical existence contains within it a unique personality, energy, and expression of Spirit.

The city of Jahilia is built entirely of sand, its structures formed of the desert whence it rises. It is a sight to wonder at: walled, four-gated, the whole of it a miracle worked by its citizens, who have learned the trick of transforming the fine white dune-sand of those forsaken parts, - the very stuff of inconstancy, - the quintessence of unsettlement, shifting, treachery, lack-of-form, - and have turned it, by alchemy, into the fabric of their newly invented permanence.

It is something to have gazed on the constellated white, felt it running from the eyes and the pores: the salt of love. It is something to have whispered wild thank-yous in the only ways we know how.

These reasonings will furnish us with an adequate definition of a true critic: that he is a discoverer and collector of writers’ faults. Which may be farther put beyond dispute by the following demonstration: that whoever will examine the writings in all kinds, wherewith this ancient sect has honoured the world, shall immediately find, from the whole thread and tenor of them, that the ideas of the authors have been altogether conversant and taken up with the faults and blemishes, and oversights, and mistakes of other writers; and let the subject treated on be whatever it will, their imaginations are so entirely possessed and replete with the defects of other pens, that the very quintessence of what is bad does of necessity distil into their own, by which means the whole appears to be nothing else but an abstract of the criticisms themselves have made.

Why is this full moon so important? She is named for her moment of maximum potency. The full moon is the quintessence. She has not been eclipsed into malefic but is in a state of exultation. The full moon is not merely the culmination of the cycle, it is a gate which opens up into a path outside of time.

The very word philosophy terrifies many women. In Quintessence I strive to exorcise this patriarchally embedded fear that undermines our intelligence and passion. We were all philosophers when we were five years old. Re-Calling our connections with nature at that age, many women can Re-member our sense of wonder and our urgent need to know. We were always asking “Why?” This state of mind can be called Wonderlust—meaning a strong and unconquerable longing for Elemental adventure and knowledge. What happened to our Wonderlust? Our visions, dreams, and far-out questions have been stunted by phallocratic society and its institutions. When we come into contact with our own deep and passionate intellectuality, we become intolerably threatening to the patriarchy. This is why there is an overwhelming taboo against women becoming philosophers, that is, seekers of wisdom on our own terms/turf. Philosophy—of our own kind, for our own kind—is a source of wholeness and power that rightfully belongs to women. Breaking the patriarchal taboo against it—against us—we break out of the state of deception. Moreover, we open gateway after gateway into our own Other-world, our Homeland. From this perspective we can See, Name, and Act to end the atrocities perpetrated against ourSelves and all the Biophilic beings.

...music does not express this or that particular and definite pleasure, this or that affliction, pain, sorrow, horror, gaiety, merriment, or peace of mind, but joy, pain, sorrow, horror, gaiety, merriment, peace of mind themselves, to a certain extent in the abstract, their essential nature, without any accessories, and so also without the motives for them. Nevertheless, we understand them perfectly in this extracted quintessence. Hence it arises that our imagination is so easily stirred by music, and tries to shape that invisible, yet vividly aroused, spirit-world that speaks to us directly, to clothe it with flesh and bone, and thus to embody it in an analogous example.

One of the miracles of the airplane is that it plunges a man directly into the heart of mystery. You are a biologist studying, through your porthole, the human ant-hill, scrutinizing objectively those towns seated in their plain at the centre of their highways which go off like the spokes of a wheel and, like arteries, nourish them with the quintessence of the fields. A needle trembles on your manometer, and this green clump below you becomes a universe. You are the prisoner of a greensward in a slumbering park.

Had he not outlawed himself from society? Had he heard of anybody else who was trying to organize a life like his, a life of dreamy contemplation? Did he know a single individual who was capable of appreciating the delicacy of a phrase, the subtlety of a painting, the quintessence of an idea, or whose soul was sensitive enough to understand...

The doctors spoke of amusements and distractions; but with whom, and with what, could they possibly suppose that he might amuse or enjoy himself? Had he not outlawed himself from society? Did he know one man capable of trying to lead a life such as his own, a life entirely confined to contemplation and to dreams? Did he know one man capable of appreciating the delicacy of a phrase, the subtlety of a painting, the quintessence of an idea, one man whose soul was sufficiently finely crafted to understand Mallarmé and to love Verlaine?

All Nazi champions insist again and again that Marxism and Bolshevism are the quintessence of the Jewish mind, and that it is the great historic mission of Nazism to root out this pest. It is true that this attitude did not prevent the German nationalists either from coöperating with the German communists in undermining the Weimar Republic, or from training their black guards in Russian artillery and aviation camps in the years 1923–1933, or— in the period from August, 1939, until June, 1941—from entering into a close political and military complicity with Soviet Russia. Nevertheless, public opinion supports the view that Nazism and Bolshevism are philosophies—Weltanschauungen—implacably opposed to each other.

We were created to make the impossible possible.

People doom and damn themselves with their own perverse and pessimistic beliefs about reality.

quintessence of learning: being able to adapt to unpredictable conditions as quickly as possible.

I realized that sorrow is an important word for defining the world. It lies at the foundations of everything, it is the fifth element, the quintessence.

Then came a moment of renaissance, I looked up - you again are there, A fleeting vision, the quintessence Of all that`s beautiful and rare.

We need to have a quintessence belief that our deed can fundamentally change the paradigm or way of thinking about dilemmas.

The beauty of the world. The paragon of animals. And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

In his writing, he was always at his funniest, his smartest, his most thoughtful, and his most courageous and adventurous. Prose so good it would make you laugh until you cried. I recognize now his books are not the shade of him, they’re the quintessence of his soul, the distillation of a great adventurer and a good man. He’s still with us through those books.

If she were born a gentlewoman! And then came to her mind those curious questions; what makes a gentleman? what makes a gentlewoman? What is the inner reality, the spiritualised quintessence of that privilege in the world which men call rank, which forces the thousands and hundreds of thousands to bow down before the few elect? What gives, or can give it, or should give it?

I felt as though I were plunging into something new and quite abnormal. I had the strangest and most vivid impressions, such as I had never before known in the mountains. There was something unnatural in the way I saw Lachenal and everything around us. I smiled to myself at the paltriness of our efforts, for I could stand apart and watch myself making these efforts. But all sense of exertion was gone, as though there were no longer any gravity. This diaphanous landscape, this quintessence of purity—these were not the mountains I knew: they were the mountains of my dreams.

BOLLOXIMIAN: My pleasures for new cunts I will uphold, And have reserves of kindness for the old. I grant in absence dildo may be used With milk of goats, when once our seed’s infused. My prick no more to bald cunt shall resort— Merkins rub off, and often spoil the sport. POCKENELLO: Let merkin, sir, be banished from the court. PENE: 'Tis like a dead hedge when the land is poor.

Unless someone is suicidal or otherwise on the brink, deciding how much he should know about himself seems the quintessence of arrogance. What attitude could be more disrespectful of those we care about?

Alchemy is a science, but a science that acknowledges certain principles of magic. This. . . this is a mathematical expression of quintessence, Archimedes' fifth element, which binds all things together.

The Russian oligarchic system is the quintessence of statist depravity, where all industry is controlled by a small number of men ruthless enough to rise to the top of a corrupt patronage system, where government serves the interests of elites, money and privilege flow to the top, the people are exploited through a venomous cocktail of brutality and graft, and truth is the enemy of the state. Russian oligarchy is economic survival of the fittest, the ultimate, balls-out Darwinian experiment in wealth consolidation by the most wicked, immoral and dishonest ― government of the rich, by the rich, for the rich at the expense and misery of everyone else.

Philosophy claims to show the true nature of this world, and in a sense the claim is justified. Philosophy unmasks religion as the general theory of this inverted world, as its encyclopaedic guide, its popular logic, its “spiritual point d’honneur,” and its moral justification. Philosophy liberates man from nonphilosophy, i.e., from fantastic ideas uncritically accepted. Consequently philosophy is the spiritual quintessence of its epoch.

Ever since you wrote to me about the Argos, I've been reading about stars. We've loads of books about them, as the subject was of particular interest to my father. Aristotle taught that stars are made of a different matter than the four earthly elements- a quintessence- that also happens to be what the human psyche is made of. Which is why man's spirit corresponds to the stars. Perhaps that's not a very scientific view, but I do like the idea that there's a little starlight in each of us.

Failure is the quintessence to triumph. Fear is a necessity. Whatever is needed in one's life to maintain the universal principle of Chaos should be seasoned and not discouraged. Regardless of whether it's crazy, it's one's subjective reality. That makes it beautiful.

Augustine arrives at “the camps and vast palaces of memory.”11 There he finds the notion of the “happy life,” which is his origin and as such the quintessence of his being. The absolute future turns out to be the ultimate past and the way to reach it is through remembrance.

What is present comes to presence in a coming forth and a going away. Even φθορά is γίνεσθαι: coming forth, a kind of φύσις, emergence—disappearance—going down. The quintessence of γένεσις as φύσις is transition, the unity of coming forth and passing away, and the latter essentially occurs in the same, in ἀλήθεια, because ἀλήθεια is conjointly and essentially concealment—withdrawal into concealing. This transition is the presencing which, however, now remains precisely hidden in favor of the presence of that which is present, that which is beaten into limits and as such is then pursued and dispelled in change. The transition will not be involved in the entrenchment of what comes to presence. The transition preserves the ἄπειρον. Presence is transitionally the gathered-gathering peak of φύσις, i.e., of unconcealedness. Presence must be experienced aletheiologically and not metaphysically in terms of the constant and the objectively present. Then it becomes clear that “being” pervades not the factor of duration of objective presence but, rather, the unique gatheredness of the emerging-perishing disconcealment.

What a piece of work is a man, How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty, In form and moving how express and admirable, In action how like an Angel, In apprehension how like a god, The beauty of the world, The paragon of animals. And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world. The paragon of animals. And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

The dialectic is the quintessence of polarisation. You cannot arrive at the Truth via hippie consensus, “respect” or “love and light”. The Truth isn’t the mid ground, the liberal centre, the position of maximum tolerance of error, falsehood and delusion. The Truth is as extreme as it gets.

I think virtue is the quintessence of perfection, and the One who created it definitely stands beyond that value. Virtues like honesty, loyalty and courtesy, do not have to be completely defined by their relation to extrinsic things. Even if they are not realized by actions, their good value remains.

Someday you'll understand. You'll have your own children, and they'll mean more to you than the world. A wife has to defend her children, even against her own husband. Not that I expect you to be easily cowed. But sometimes, despite all you say and do, your husband won't be dissuaded from folly. When that happens, as a mother you have to close ranks. Your first responsibility is to your children. To salvage what you can. Even if they hate you for it.

What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me: no, nor woman neither...

Music is not what I think it is, Schopenhauer tells me. It does not convey emotion. It conveys the essence, the container, of emotions without the content. When we listen to music, we perceive not a particular sadness or a particular joy but sadness itself and joy itself—“the extracted quintessence of these feelings,” says Schopenhauer

Whoever has a perfect vision of one thing, Has the perfect vision of all things, For the emptiness of one thing Is the emptiness of all things. – Aryadeva

Man creates the link between Nature and Archetype.

The real slavery of to-day is slavery to ideals of virtue.

A person, enchanted by something delightful, clings to it out of attachment. He is bound to be afflicted, even by a pain as small as a sesame seed.

Tammy, werewulves act in ways that are pleasing only to themselves. They behave without a conscious... They are sick monsters who have permanently lost their self-control. Their intentions and motivations are never clear; they slaughter flocks and herds yet eat nothing. They are the quintessence of evil, hence the title “demon”. And who really wants demons around?

What a piece of work is a man, How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty, In form and moving how express and admirable, In action how like an Angel, In apprehension how like a god, The beauty of the world, The paragon of animals. And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no, nor Woman neither; though by your smiling you seem to say so.

Even if it seems as though our lives have been reduced to ashes, hope persists. New and more powerful life is still possible. “What does not kill me makes me stronger,” declared Nietzsche with his customary indomitable defiance of misfortune. In other words, if you’re still standing, if you’ve been thrown into a crucible of struggle and you haven’t perished, then, if you did but know it, you’re much stronger than before, a person who knows how to survive. Now you need only make that inner strength explicit. Dominate the world. Don’t let the world dominate you.

Honeysuckle iced petals,' scoffed one John Bull, spying my menu. 'I should as soon eat a bouquet of flowers. You must serve me solid belly timber, madame, nothing else.' Yet in one week I had tempted the old duffer with a restoring quintessence of veal. Then at dessert I caught him licking his spoon like a schoolboy as he scooped up a flower of my own exquisite honeysuckle ice.

DEX’S FAIL-PROOF ALCHEMY TIPS! (EVEN FOR YOU, SOPHIE!) TRUST THE DIZZNEE METHOD. WE’RE THE BEST! WHAP MEANS “WASH HANDS AND PRESENT.” (DO NOT “WHIP” THE ELIXIR INSTEAD! I KNOW YOU KNOW THIS, BUT IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD REMINDER.) ONLY PRACTICE ALCHEMY IN A FIREPROOF LOCATION. (WE, UH, BOTH KNOW WHY THIS ONE’S SO IMPORTANT.…) ALWAYS POUR IN AMARALLITINE FROM A SAFE DISTANCE—AND USE A TIMER TO ENSURE YOU’RE ADDING IT AT THE EXACT SECOND THE ELIXIR IS READY FOR IT. DON’T GET ANY RUCKLEBERRY JUICE ON YOUR SKIN—IT’LL MAKE YOU SMELL LIKE STINKY FEET. AND YOUR SKIN WILL GET ALL WEIRD AND WRINKLY LIKE FORKLE. YEAH, A LOT OF THE INGREDIENTS FOR ELIXIRS ARE SUPER DISGUSTING. IT’S PROBABLY BETTER IF YOU DON’T THINK ABOUT IT. (AND PLUG YOUR NOSE! ) REMEMBER: LADY GALVIN HATES EVERYBODY—IT’S NOT JUST YOU. (ALTHOUGH MAYBE TRY NOT TO DESTROY HER CAPE AGAIN?) ALKAHEST IS THE UNIVERSAL SOLVENT AND CAN ONLY BE STORED IN A BUBBLE OF ITSELF. (WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT TOUCH IT.) IF YOU BOTTLE QUINTESSENCE (ACCIDENTALLY OR ON PURPOSE), DO NOT BRING THE BOTTLE TO FOXFIRE. IF YOU SUDDENLY REMEMBER ANY COMPLICATED FORMULAS, DON’T TRY MAKING THEM. THE BLACK SWAN WAY OVERESTIMATED YOUR ALCHEMY SKILLS!

Such is what is called a person of kingly virtuosity. He peers into the darkest dark, he listens where there is no sound. Within the darkest dark alone he sees daybreak. Within the soundless alone he hears harmony. Thus even in the depths below the deep, he can discern a something definitely present, and even in the more imponderable than the imponderable, he can discern a certain subtle quintessence.

But . . . Sir Astin was surprised when I showed him the bottle of Quintessence.” “Well, yes, because I never thought you’d bring it to Foxfire! Or carry it around in your satchel, letting it get shaken and jostled all day! It’s amazing you didn’t blow the school to pieces. That was when I learned to never make assumptions about what you’ll do. I’d foolishly figured you’d run straight to Alden. Just like I’d figured Mr. Dizznee would have you two wearing protective gloves—proper starlight bottling procedure. Instead you burned your hands and called for Elwin, and then you showed up to your session and plopped the bottle on the table. Of course I panicked! I knew I’d have to make a report to Dame Alina, and you’d face a Tribunal, and all kinds of other consequences we could’ve avoided if you’d gone to Alden.

My youth was the most stubborn, peremptory part of myself. In my most relaxed moments, it governed my being. It pricked up its ears at the banter of eighteen-year-olds on the street. It frankly examined their bodies. It did not know its place: that my youth governed me with such ease didn't mean I was young. It meant I was divided as if housing a stowaway soul, rife with itches and yens which demanded a stern vigilance. I didn't live thoughtlessly in my flesh anymore. My body had not, in its flesh, fundamentally changed quite so much as it now could intuit the change that would only be dodged by an untimely death, and to know both those bodies at once, the youthful, and the old, was to me the quintessence of being middle-aged. Now I saw all my selves, even those that did not yet exist, and the task was remembering which I presented to others.

A magic moment I remember: I raised my eyes and you were there, A fleeting vision, the quintessence Of all that's beautiful and rare I pray to mute despair and anguish, To vain the pursuits world esteems, Long did I hear your soothing accents, Long did your features haunt my dreams. Time passed. A rebel storm-blast scattered The reveries that once were mine And I forgot your soothing accents, Your features gracefully divine. In dark days of enforced retirement I gazed upon grey skies above With no ideals to inspire me No one to cry for, live for, love. Then came a moment of reinessance, I looked up - you again are there A fleeting vision, the quintessence Of all that's beautiful and rare – Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin, “A Magic Moment I Remember,” The Poetry of Alexander Sergeyevich (Portable Poetgry, January 27th 2014) Originally published 1821

Even in rainier areas, where dust is less inexorable and submits to brooms and rags, it is generally detested, because dust is not organized and is therefore considered aesthetically bankrupt. Our light is not kind to faint diffuse spreading things. Our soft comfortable light flatters carefully organized, formally structured things like wedding cakes with their scrolls and overlapping flounces. It takes the mortal storms of a star to transform dust into something incandescent. Our dust, shambling and subtractive as it is, would be radiant, if we were close enough to such a star, to that deep and dangerous light, and we would be ravished by the vision—emerald shreds veined in gold, diamond bursts fraught with deep-red flashes, aqua and violet and icy-green astral manifestations, splintery blinking harbor of light, dust as it can be, the quintessence of dust.

The first study for the man who wants to be a poet is knowledge of himself, complete: he searches for his soul, he inspects it, he puts it to the test, he learns it. As soon as he has learned it, he must cultivate it! I say that one must be a seer, make oneself a seer. The poet becomes a seer through a long, immense, and reasoned derangement of all the senses. All shapes of love suffering, madness. He searches himself, he exhausts all poisons in himself, to keep only the quintessences. Ineffable torture where he needs all his faith, all his superhuman strength, where he becomes among all men the great patient, the great criminal, the great accursed one--and the supreme Scholar! For he reaches the unknown! ....So the poet is actually a thief of Fire! ― Arthur Rimbaud, Rimbaud Complete. (Modern Library; Reprint edition January 14, 2003) Originally published 1870.

I think virtue is the quintessence of perfection, and the One who created it definitely stands beyond that value. Virtues like honesty, loyalty and courtesy, do not have to be completely defined by their relation to extrinsic things. Even if they are not realized by actions, their good value remains. Thus, it is not the end of virtue that I fear, but the end of me. What kind of person will I become without righteousness, for instance? I may not even be able to define myself.

He wondered why that statement had angered him so much in the first place. It had seemed so natural. Why had it taken so long to see that what it really said was “What you like is bad, or at least inconsequential.” What was behind this smug presumption that what pleased you was bad, or at least unimportant in comparison to other things? It seemed the quintessence of the squareness he was fighting. Little children were trained not to do “just what they liked” but…but what?…Of course! What others liked.

The most profound enchantment for the collector is the locking of individual items within a magic circle in which they are fixed as the final thrill, the thrill of acquisition, passes over them. Everything remembered and thought, everything conscious, becomes the pedestal, the frame, the base, the lock of his property. The period, the region, the craftsmanship, the former ownership—for a true collector the whole background of an item adds up to a magic encyclopedia whose quintessence is the fate of his object.

Winston was tired but cheerful. We spoke of the dark days of the summer. I told him that Portal and I had confessed to each other that in our hearts we had both despaired at one time. He said, “Yes, normally I wake up buoyant to face the new day. Then I awoke with dread in my heart.”’180 Yet nothing any of those men did or said in public, to the press, in Parliament or to their own staffs, or even to their wives, let slip for one minute that they had the slightest doubt in ultimate victory. It was the quintessence of leadership.

Louis Quinze aimait peu les parfums. Je l'imite Et je leur acquiesce en la juste limite. Ni flacons, s'il vous plait, ni sachets en amour! Mais, o qu'air naif et piquant flotte autour D'un corps, pourvu que l'art de m'exciter se trouve; (...) Des lors, voudrais-je encore du poison etranger, D'un fragrance prise a la plante, a la bete, Qui vous tourne le coeur et vous brule la tete, Puisque j'ai, pour magnifier la volupte, Proprement la quintessence de la beaute. L'emotion profonde du soir et le bonheur triste des coeurs fideles.

The earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air--look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire--why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world. The paragon of animals. And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

Devotees of these two spiritual paths of experience—oneness and goodness—have been at odds for centuries. Proponents of the oneness path have insisted that the goal of spirituality is to reconnect with everlasting eternity. They yearn to taste the quintessence of their being, to transcend time and space, to be unified with the one. In the other camp, advocates of the goodness path have traditionally seen stark choices in the world. They believe we should choose love, compassion, beauty, truth, and altruism over hatred, fear, anger, judgment, and other opposites of goodness. To them, there are constructive forces in the world that are being challenged by destructive ones. Their goal has been to stand their ground and choose to be good above all else. Even with those apparent differences, both paths have found homes within each of the world’s religions. As noted earlier, Hinduism offers the oneness path of Yoga, Judaism offers Kabbalah, Islam offers Sufism, Christianity offers Mysticism, and so on. Whatever the arrangement, the two paths have historically found ways to co-exist.

Evolution has molded males and females to carry out the only imperative that nature has— the continuance of life—which is achieved via individual survival and reproductive success. It falls upon the shoulders of females to perform the most important and noble role of all: that of carrying, delivering, and nurturing the next generation of humans. That is both a burden and a crowning glory, assigned not by a patriarchal society but by Mother Nature herself. Observing a young mother basking in her newborn, we see the quintessence of joyous satisfaction, certainly a far cry from an inferior role, as it is often described by radical feminists. To liken traditional sex roles to slavery and prostitution, and all heterosexual sexual activity to rape, as many of the most radical feminists have done, is the essence of idiocy and bigotry, and it is not too far away from self-loathing. Furthermore, it is an insult of the most egregious kind to millions of men and women living decent, moral lives in the context of those traditional roles. My wife hardly thinks of herself as a slave, nor do I think of her as a prostitute.

Like the expanse of space, the mind [in its intrinsic nature] transcends intellect. Let it remain in its relaxed nature, without directing or settling it, for mind without a manipulated focus represents Mahāmudrā; By deepening intimacy with it, one will attain supreme enlightenment.

Thus, being the only begotten son of method and resolve, Op Oloop was the most perfect of human machines, the most notable object of self-discipline that Buenos Aires had ever seen. When everything in life from the important universal phenomena to one's own trivial, individual failures has been recorded and anotated since puberty, it's fair to say that one's system of classification will have been honed, condensed to their most perfect quintessence. Or else deified into a great, overarching, methodological hierarchy. Method's very greatness, of course, is revealed in its sovereignty over the trivial!

I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, foregone all custom of exercises; indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory. This most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o’erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appeareth as nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an Angel, in apprehension how like a god, the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals; and yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

Historically, cities were built on rivers or natural harbors to ease the flow of goods. But these days, since shipping costs have declined and service industries have risen, what counts most is the flow of ideas. The quintessence of the vibrant city for Glaeser is Wall Street, especially the trading floor, where millionaires foresake large offices to work in an open-plan bath of information. "They value knowledge over space -- that's what the modern city is all about," he said. Successful cities "increase the returns to being smart" by enabling people to learn from one another. In cities with higher average education, even the uneducated earn higher wages; that's evidence of "human captial spillover.

Indeed, this relationship is no more identical than beauty, the quintessence of all beautiful bodies, can be said to be identical to any one body. And just as body may be consumed but not beauty, light may be extinguished but not brightness, the sounds come and go but not the very sweetness of music, the dark “abysses” of the human heart are subject to time and consumed by time, but not its quintessential being that adheres to it. To this quintessential being I can belong by virtue of love, since love confers belonging . . . . In finding God [man] finds what he lacks, the very thing he is not: an eternal essence. And this eternal manifests itself “inwardly”—it is the internum aeternum, the internal insofar as it is eternal.

We understand deeply that until all women are free no man can be free. Even when we believe that we've taken everything into consideration we acknowledge that we may be behaving as badly and as snoolishly as our forefathers. We are learning to recognize this as a culturally inherited blind spot that leads inevitably to the destruction of women and all life on Earth, including ourselves. Moreover: We resolve to accept counsel when criticism is offered regarding our deficiencies and to make every effort to improve. We resolve not to unduly burden our Sisters by insisting that they teach us, correct us, and explain to us. We resolve to respect Women's Space. We resolve to encourage all women to activate the fullness of their potential and never stand in the way. We resolve to take responsibility for our share of domestic chores and childcare. We resolve to meet together regularly as men to learn how to transform our violent tendencies. We resolve to eradicate all eroticism that depends upon a paradigm of dominance and submission. We resolve to continue diligently the process of forgetting “how to be a man.” Statement from the Biophilic Brotherhood, dated January 1, 2019 BE

Revisionism, or Right opportunism, is a bourgeois trend of thought that is even more dangerous than dogmatism. The revisionists, the Right opportunists, pay lip-service to Marxism; they too attack "dogmatism". But what they are really attacking is the quintessence of Marxism. They oppose or distort materialism and dialectics, oppose or try to weaken the people's democratic dictatorship and the leading role of the Communist Party, and oppose or try to weaken socialist transformation and socialist construction. After the basic victory of the socialist revolution in our country, there are still a number of people who vainly hope to restore the capitalist system and fight the working class on every front, including the ideological one. And their right-hand men in this struggle are the revisionists.

The first study for the man who wants to be a poet is knowledge of himself, complete: he searches for his soul, he inspects it, he puts it to the test, he learns it. As soon as he has learned it, he must cultivate it! I say that one must be a seer, make oneself a seer. The poet becomes a seer through a long, immense, and reasoned derangement of all the senses. All shapes of love suffering, madness. He searches himself, he exhausts all poisons in himself, to keep only the quintessences. Ineffable torture where he needs all his faith, all his superhuman strength, where he becomes among all men the great patient, the great criminal, the great accursed one–and the supreme Scholar! For he reaches the unknown! ….So the poet is actually a thief of Fire! ― Arthur Rimbaud, Rimbaud Complete. (Modern Library; Reprint edition January 14, 2003) Originally published 1870.

I say that one must be a seer, make oneself a seer. The poet makes himself a seer by a long, prodigious, and rational disordering of all the senses. Every form of love, of suffering, of madness; he searches himself, he consumes all the poisons in him, and keeps only their quintessences. This is an unspeakable torture during which he needs all his faith and superhuman strength, and during which he becomes the great patient, the great criminal, the great accursed—and the great learned one!—among men.—For he arrives at the unknown! Because he has cultivated his own soul—which was rich to begin with – more than any other man! He reaches the unknown; and even if, crazed, he ends up by losing the understanding of his visions, at least he has seen them! Let him die charging through those unutterable, unnameable things: other horrible workers will come; they will begin from the horizons where he has succumbed!

The Pythagoreans were fascinated by the regular solids, symmetrical three-dimensional objects all of whose sides are the same regular polygon. The cube is the simplest example, having six squares as sides. There are an infinite number of regular polygons, but only five regular solids. (The proof of this statement, a famous example of mathematical reasoning, is given in Appendix 2.) For some reason, knowledge of a solid called the dodecahedron having twelve pentagons as sides seemed to them dangerous. It was mystically associated with the Cosmos. The other four regular solids were identified, somehow, with the four “elements” then imagined to constitute the world; earth, fire, air and water. The fifth regular solid must then, they thought, correspond to some fifth element that could only be the substance of the heavenly bodies. (This notion of a fifth essence is the origin of our word quintessence.) Ordinary people were to be kept ignorant of the dodecahedron.

Mon frère, Claude,' urged Florence, leading me to a youth just like herself in broad shape and countenance. He talked rapidly with Florence, all the while tending a tiny copper saucepan. Then breaking off his talk, he reached for a teaspoon, and with all the worshipfulness of a priest at an altar, Claude tasted the shining stock, his face blank to all but his sense of taste. 'Quintessence,' whispered Florence, sniffing in awe at the rising steam. 'For many days the meat is reduced to create the soul of the sauce.' Then with measured care he reached for a lemon and squeezed in four steady drops. The name of the dish was souffle, as the French write it. I wrote the particulars down, as it was a most magical dish. Who would have guessed that egg whites fraught for a long while could make a dish rise like a cloud? Once it had risen in a hot oven, Claude dressed the souffle with a ring of honeyed quintessence. It quivered on a pretty porcelain plate like a gently steaming puffball.

Again I say, the Christians of to-day are too modest for me .… If Wagner were a Christian, then Liszt was perhaps a Father of the Church! — The need of salvation, the quintessence of all Christian needs, has nothing in common with such clowns; it is the most straightforward expression of decadence, it is the most convincing and most painful affirmation of decadence, in sublime symbols and practices. The Christian wishes to be rid of himself. Le moi est toujours haissable (The Self is always hateful). Noble morality, master-morality, on the other hand, is rooted in a triumphant saying of yea to one's self, — it is the self-affirmation and self-glorification of life; it also requires sublime symbols and practices; but only “because its heart is too full.” The whole of beautiful art and of great art belongs here; their common essence is gratitude. But we must allow it a certain instinctive repugnance to décadents, and a scorn and horror of the latter's symbolism: such things almost prove it. The noble Romans considered Christianity as a foeda superstitio: let me call to your minds the feelings which the last German of noble taste — Goethe — had in regard to the cross.

In what way can it act as master? Through scores of incarnations, the ‘self ’ we end up with is derived from the attributes with which we endow our God, the abstract Ego or conceptive principles. All conception is a denial of the Kiã, and hence we human beings are its opposition, our own evil. As we are the offspring of ourselves, we are the conflict between whatever we deny and assert of the Kiã. It would seem that we cannot be too careful in our choice, for it determines the body we inhabit. Thus forever from ‘self ’ do I fashion the Kiã, which may be without likeness, but which may be regarded as the truth. From this process is the bondage made, and not through intellect shall we be free from it. The law of Kiã is always its own original purpose, undetermined by anything else, and its emanations are unchanging. Through our own conceptive process things materialize, and take their nature from that duality. Human beings take their law from this refraction, and their ideas create their reality. With what do they balance their ecstasy? They pay measure for measure with intense pain, sorrow, and miseries. With what do they balance their rebellion? Of necessity, with slavery! Duality is the law, and realization by experience relates and opposes by units of time. Ecstasy for any length of time is difficult to obtain, and takes a lot of work. The conditions of consciousness and existence would seem to be various degrees of misery alternating with gusts of pleasure and some more subtle emotions. Consciousness of existence consists of duality in some form or other. From it are created the illusions of time, size, entity, etc.: the world’s limit. The dual principle is the quintessence of all experience, and no ramification has enlarged its primordial simplicity, but can only be its repetition, modification or complexity: its evolution can never be complete. It can never go further than the experience of self, so returns and unites again and again, ever an anti-climax. Its evolution consists of forever returning to its original simplicity by infinite complication. No man shall understand its ‘reason why’ by looking at its workings. Know it as the illusion that embraces the learning of all existence. It is the most aged one who grows no wiser, and is the mother of all things. Therefore believe all ‘experience’ to be an illusion, and the result of the law of duality. Just as space pervades an object both inside and outside it, similarly within and beyond this ever-changing cosmos, there is this single principle.

We are accustomed to thinking of Ernest Hemingway as a boozy, undisciplined genius who got through a quart of whiskey a day for the last twenty years of his life but nevertheless had the muse upon him. He was indeed an alcoholic driven by complex passions.2 But when it came to writing, he was the quintessence of discipline! His early writing was characterized by obsessive literary perfectionism as he labored to develop his economy of style, spending hours polishing a sentence, or searching for the mot juste—the right word. It is a well-known fact that he rewrote the conclusion to his novel A Farewell to Arms seventeen times in an effort to get it right. This is characteristic of great writers. Dylan Thomas made over two hundred handwritten(!) manuscript versions of his poem “Fern Hill.”3 Even toward the end, when Hemingway was reaping the ravages of his lifestyle, while writing at his Finca Vigia in Cuba he daily stood before an improvised desk in oversized loafers on yellow tiles from 6:30 A.M. until noon every day, carefully marking his production for the day on a chart. His average was only two pages — five hundred words.4 It was discipline, Ernest Hemingway’s massive literary discipline, which transformed the way his fellow Americans, and people throughout the English-speaking world, expressed themselves.

Mussolini and Hitler also felt that they were doing things along similar lines to FDR. Indeed, they celebrated the New Deal as a kindred effort. The German press was particularly lavish in its praise for FDR. In 1934 the Völkischer Beobachter—the Nazi Party’s official newspaper—described Roosevelt as a man of “irreproachable, extremely responsible character and immovable will” and a “warmhearted leader of the people with a profound understanding of social needs.” The paper emphasized that Roosevelt, through his New Deal, had eliminated “the uninhibited frenzy of market speculation” of the previous decade by adopting “National Socialist strains of thought in his economic and social policies.” After his first year in office, Hitler sent FDR a private letter congratulating “his heroic efforts in the interests of the American people. The President’s successful battle against economic distress is being followed by the entire German people with interest and admiration.” And he told the American ambassador, William Dodd, that he was “in accord with the President in the view that the virtue of duty, readiness for sacrifice, and discipline should dominate the entire people. These moral demands which the President places before every individual citizen of the United States are also the quintessence of the German state philosophy, which finds its expression in the slogan ‘The Public Weal Transcends the Interest of the Individual.’ ”38

Think for yourself. Save yourself. Enlighten yourself. Let no one control you. Your salvation is your business, not anyone else’s. It’s up to you to make contact with the divine order. It’s up to you to become God. No one else can do it for you. You can be everything you want to be if you put in the effort. No one says it will be easy. Why should it be? Why should it not be the most difficult and challenging task of all? After all, how can becoming God ever be anything other than the hardest accomplishment humanly conceivable? But isn’t that precisely what makes it so glorious; the supreme endeavour, the ultimate quest, the final and surest meaning of life, of existence itself? That is why the Holy Grail is the most sought-after object of all.

The law of Kia is its ever original purpose, undetermined, without change the emanations, through our conception they materialize and are of that duality, man takes this law from this refraction, his ideas-reality. With what does he balance his ecstasy? Measure for measure by intense pain, sorrow, and miseries. With what his rebellion? Of necessity slavery! Duality is the law, realization by suffering, relates and opposes by units of time. Ecstasy for any length of time is difficult to obtain, and laboured heavily for. Various degrees of misery alternating with gusts of pleasure and emotions less anxious, would seem the condition of consciousness and existence. Duality in some form or another is consciousness as existence. It is the illusion of time, size, entity, etc.-the world's limit. The dual principle is the quintessence of all experience, no ramification has enlarged its early simplicity, but is only its repetition, modification or complexity, never is its evolution complete. It cannot go further than the experience of self-so returns and unites again and again, ever an anti-climax. Forever retrogressing to its original simplicity by infinite complication is its evolution. No man shall understand "Why" by its workings. Know it as the illusion that embraces the learning of all existence. The most aged one who grows no wiser, it may be regarded as the mother of all things. Therefore believe all experience to be illusion, and the law of duality. As space pervades an object both in and out, similarly within and beyond this ever-changing cosmos, there is this secondless principle.

There’s nothing mysterious about souls. They are simply mathematical singularities outside space and time. They are autonomous Fourier frequency domains. They are Leibnizian monads and Cartesian minds. They are the quintessence of ontological mathematics and the basis of everything. We can even write a precise equation for souls = singularities = minds = monads, namely, the God Equation, which is just the generalised Euler Formula, the centrepiece of mathematical analysis and fundamental to physics.

There’s nothing mysterious about souls. They are simply mathematical singularities outside space and time. They are autonomous Fourier frequency domains. They are Leibnizian monads and Cartesian minds. They are the quintessence of ontological mathematics and the basis of everything. We can even write a precise equation for souls = singularities = minds = monads, namely, the God Equation, which is just the generalised Euler Formula, the centrepiece of mathematical analysis and fundamental to physics.

What piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god: the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

There was northing ordinary about being ordinary; to love and to be loved: That was the quintessence of the extraordinary.

Targeted advertising of this kind is often held up as the quintessence of a scientific approach. But again, at least some of those consumers, and possibly many of them, would have bought the products anyway. As a result, the ads were just as wasted on them as they were on consumers who saw the ads and weren’t interested.

Ce que cherchait Glenn Gould dans la musique de BACH, par son jeu staccatissimo - et les innombrables commentateurs ne l'ont pas vu - ce n'est rien d'autre que la lisibilité des voix contrapuntiques de ladite musique. En d'autres termes, Gould voulait rendre le plus nettement possible la spécificité de chacune des voix qui composent, par exemple, une fugue. La forme-fugue incarnant la quintessence de la musique du Kantor. Hélas, cela était impossible, comme c'est impossible pour tout instrument à clavier dont la nature sonore, l'identité sonore, est trop uniforme, le piano en tête ! L'orgue a bien quelques sonorités (jeux) à sa disposition, mais ce la ne suffit pas. La seule solution pour rendre aussi fidèlement que possible l'esprit contrapuntique de la musique de BACH, c'est de transcrire sa musique pour divers instruments ayant chacun une voix - une sonorité - très identifiable. C'est ce que j'ai modestement tenté par le moyen de diverses formations musicales (trios, quartets, quintets...) inventées spécialement à cette fin, savoir, redonner vie aux différentes voix du contrepoint. Un unique instrument ne pourra jamais même s'approcher de l'essence du contrepoint : il erre dans les limbes de l'harmonie et ne peut atteindre à aucune horizontalité - linéarité - des voix. Glenn Gould, cet anachorète des studios, n'a de cesse de chercher par quel biais technologique on pourrait rendre lisible ce fameux agencement des voix. Il se heurte à un problème de départ, insoluble : le son uniforme du piano. Ergo, cet instrument est sans aucun doute le dernier, avec le clavecin, qui convienne à la musique de BACH. Il existe, Dieu merci, d'autres compositeurs dont la musique ne pose pas le problème de la superposition de voix contrapuntiques purement linaires. L'ironie du sort voulut que Gould jouât du piano et ne goûtât pas Chopin, lequel était pourtant le seul qui a écrit - à ce jour - un musique qui épouse totalement la sonorité même du piano.

The dual principle is the quintessence of all experience, no ramification has enlarged its early simplicity, but is only its repetition, modification or complexity, never is its evolution complete. It cannot go further than the experience of self-so returns and unites again and again, ever an anti-climax. Forever retrogressing to its original simplicity by infinite complication is its evolution. No man shall understand "Why" by its workings. Know it as the illusion that embraces the learning of all existence. The most aged one who grows no wiser, it may be regarded as the mother of all things. Therefore believe all experience to be illusion, and the law of duality.

The most powerful ancient knowledge has been shrouded within esoteric mystery schools etc And as a collective humanity have been intentionally dumbed down to disconnect from the ability to harness and transmute energy Some can partly, but don't realise they're actually doing it There are lost of names + symbolism for life-force vital energy in every Ancient culture or modern interpretations Prana Chi/Qi/Ki Livity Essence of life Via Vitae Divine breath Breath of life Pneuma Vis Vitalis Orgone Ousia Æether Vril Quintessence The Fifth Element Electricity Call it what you will, it's inside of you and around you.

A consensus by itself is meaningless. It was once the consensus that the earth was flat, that the sun orbited the stationary earth, that the Catholic Church was the source of all Truth, that Jesus Christ was God, and that classical physics was almost perfect, bar a fee minor details. All great advances have come about by overturning the consensus. That’s actually the definition of a great advance! To say that no one should be allowed to challenge or doubt the consensus is just about the most serious anti-science statement that anyone can make. That’s turning science into religion, a faith that no one is allowed to question! It’s a simple fact that no matter what the scientific consensus is – and science has been wrong about countless things in its history, and even defines itself according to the principles that all of its claims must be capable of falsification or verification, hence it always places a doubt over itself – the consensus can be completely misguided and mistaken. The dogmatic assertion that it is wrong to spread “doubt and confusion” after “a scientific consensus had been reached” is simply chilling. This is the quintessence of the paradigmatic, blinkered scientific thinking attacked by Thomas Kuhn.

sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction

I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, foregone all custom of exercises; indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory. This most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appeareth to me as nothing but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, and action how like an Angel, in apprehension how like a god, the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals; and yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

Everything is interconnected and is an indivisible oneness; whether you know it or not. Not your physical entity but your quintessence and internal life-substratum is eternal; whether you know it or not. And of course you are naught, even now and hereafter; whether you know it or not!

There is only One 'I', in quintessence. Once it is recognized as such, through science or spirituality, the 'other' becomes yours. Thence hate goes for a toss. You become your own boss. And incomes love for one-another. Makes sense?

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Plato's theory of the elements was drawn from the Pythagoreans. In Timaeus, Plato describes the four elements in terms of the five regular geometric solids that now bear his name, the Platonic Solids. The triangle is the fundamental building block of these solids, which are: the Tetrahedron— Fire, built of three triangles; the Octahedron—Air, made of eight triangles; the Icosahedron—Water, made of twenty triangles; the Cube— Earth, made of twelve triangles or twenty-four triangles; and the Dodecahedron— Space or the Quintessence, made of sixty triangles.

And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? (Act 2, Scene 2, line 303-304)

There's nobody sitting on a throne 'up There'. No old man, spirit, god mother, heavenly father, messiah, fairy, angel, deity, devil, hell or heaven. Just a divine unity of the Whole, in eternity. In substratum and quintessence, it is 'here'. And oh! No religion. Yup. Beware!

Her beauty could make any woman envy her and make any man want to be with her. Her poise was painted in gold, and her gentle smile weakened nerves. Oh, My Sweet Lord, she was the quintessence of uncommon beauty. Elizabeth Taylor truly was!

Simplicity means possessing little, clearing the way for the bare necessities, the quintessence of things. Simplicity is beautiful because it brings hidden joys.

Why have your passions cooled?” “I expected--hoped--that you would be more like you were in the letters.” Christopher paused, staring at her closely. “I’ve often wondered…did someone help you to write them?” Although Prudence had the face of an angel, the fury in her eye was the exact opposite of heavenly serenity. “Oh! Why are you always asking me about those stupid letters! They were only words. Words mean nothing!” “You’ve made me realize that words are the most important things in the world…” “Nothing,” Christopher repeated, staring at her. “Yes.” Prudence looked slightly mollified as she saw that she had gained his entire attention. “I’m here, Christopher. I’m real. You don’t need silly old letters now. You have me.” “What about when you wrote to me about the quintessence?” he asked. “Did that mean nothing?” “The--” Prudence stared at him, flushing. “I can’t recall what I meant by that.” “The fifth element, according to Aristotle,” he prompted gently. Her color drained, leaving her bone-white. She looked like a guilty child caught in an act of mischief. “What has that to do with anything?” she cried, taking refuge in anger. “I want to talk about something real. Who cares about Aristotle?” “I do like the idea that there’s a little starlight in each of us…” She had never written those words. For a moment Christopher couldn’t react. One thought followed another, each connecting briefly like the hands of men in a torch race. Some entirely different woman had written to him…with Prudence’s consent…he had been deceived…Audrey must have known…he had been made to care…and then the letters had stopped. Why? “I’m not who you think I am…” Christopher felt his throat and chest tightening, heard a rasp of something that sounded like a wondering laugh. Prudence laughed as well, the sound edged with relief. She had no idea in hell what had caused his bitter amusement. Had they wanted to make a fool of him? Had it been intended as revenge for some past slight? By God, he would find who had done it, and why. He had loved and been betrayed by someone whose name he didn’t know. He loved her still--that was the unforgivable part. And she would pay, whoever she was. It felt good to have a purpose again, to hunt someone for the purpose of inflicting damage. It felt familiar. It was who he was. His smile, thin as a knife edge, cut through the cold fury. Prudence gazed at him uncertainly. “Christopher?” she faltered. “What are you thinking?” He went to her and took her shoulders in his hands, thinking briefly of how easy it would be to slide his hands up to her neck and throttle her. He shaped his mouth into a charming smile. “Only that you’re right,” he said. “Words aren’t important. This is what’s important.” He kissed her slowly, expertly, until he felt her slender body relax against his. Prudence made a little sound of pleasure, her arms linking around his neck. “Before I leave for Hampshire,” Christopher murmured against her blushing cheek, “I’ll ask your father for formal permission to court you. Does that please you?” “Oh, yes,” Prudence cried, her face radiant. “Oh, Christopher…do I have your heart?” “You have my heart,” Christopher said tonelessly, holding her close, while his cold gaze fastened on a distant point outside the window. Except that he had no heart left to give.

These definitions are a deliberate attempt to avoid a mass of synonyms of the kind that clog—just to give one example—Johnson’s second definition of ‘to plague’, which reads ‘to trouble; to teaze; to vex; to harrass; to torment; to afflict; to distress; to torture; to embarrass; to excruciate; to make uneasy; to disturb’. This is impressionistic: as we read a definition of this type, we can see Johnson floundering in search of the word’s quintessence,

In its own unique and indefinable manner, music indirectly communicates the joys of life along with the pains and terrors overwhelming humanity. The universal language of music quantities the human experience, its range of variation encapsulates the scale of humankind’s exuberance for living as well as expresses our apprehension of suffering and death. Because music articulates the quintessence of life and yokes a myriad of human events into an expressible format, music is a critical act.

ANAGRAMMATISM  (ANAGRA'MMATISM)   n.s.[from anagram.]The act or practice of making anagrams. The only quintessence that hitherto the alchymy of wit could draw out of names, is anagrammatism, or metagrammamatism, which is a dissolution of a name truly written into his letters, as his elements, and a new connexion of it by artificial transposition, without addition, substraction, or change of any letter into different words, making some perfect sense appliable to the person named.Camden.

In brief, the very quintessence of all meditative concentrations of both the sutras and the tantras of the great vehicle is to see, through supreme knowledge in a way that is without seeing, that no phenomenon whatsoever abides as anything, such as existence or nonexistence, and to undistractedly and nonconceptually rest in this very seeing.

Pour celui qui a su extraire la quintessence de l’existence, la mort n’est pas une déchéance ultime, mais l’achèvement serein d’une vie bien vécue : une belle mort est l’aboutissement d’une belle vie.

Adaptive decision making is the quintessence of rationality, but the items used to assess intelligence on widely accepted tests bear no resemblance to measures of rational decision making. This creates some curious phenomena that we do in fact tend to notice. We do tend to notice, and to find mildly perplexing, "smart people doing dumb things." But the way that we have historically measured intelligence makes this phenomenon not perplexing at all. If by smart we mean IQ-test smart and by dumb we mean poor decision making, then the source of the phenomenon is clear. IQ tests do not measure adaptive decision making. So if we are surprised at a high-IQ person acting foolishly, it can only mean that we think that all good mental attributes must co-occur with high intelligence-in this case, that rational thinking must go with high intelligence.

Dear Christopher, You’ve made me realize that words are the most important things in the world. And never so much as now. The moment Audrey gave me your last letter, my heart started beating faster, and I had to run to my secret house to read it in private. I haven’t yet told you…last spring on one of my rambles, I found the oddest structure in the forest, a lone tower of brick and stonework, all covered with ivy and moss. It was on a distant portion of the Stony Cross estate that belongs to Lord Westcliff. Later when I asked Lady Westcliff about it, she said that keeping a secret house was a local custom in medieval times. The lord of the manor might have used it as a place to keep his mistress. Once a Westcliff ancestor actually hid there from his own bloodthirsty retainers. Lady Westcliff said I could visit the secret house whenever I wanted, since it has long been abandoned. I go there often. It’s my hiding place, my sanctuary…and now that you know about it, it’s yours as well. I’ve just lit a candle and set it in a window. A very tiny lodestar, for you to follow home. Dearest Prudence, Amid all the noise and men and madness, I try to think of you in your secret house…my princess in a tower. And my lodestar in the window. The things one has to do in war…I thought it would all become easier as time went on. And I’m sorry to say I was right. I fear for my soul. The things I have done, Pru. The things I have yet to do. If I don’t expect God to forgive me, how can I ask you to? Dear Christopher, Love forgives all things. You don’t even need to ask. Ever since you wrote to me about the Argos, I’ve been reading about stars. We’ve loads of books about them, as the subject was of particular interest to my father. Aristotle taught that stars are made of a different matter than the four earthly elements--a quintessence--that also happens to be what the human psyche is made of. Which is why man’s spirit corresponds to the stars. Perhaps that’s not a very scientific view, but I do like the idea that there’s a little starlight in each of us. I carry thoughts of you like my own personal constellation. How far away you are, dearest friend, but no farther than those fixed stars in my soul. Dear Pru, We’re settling in for a long siege. It’s uncertain as to when I’ll have the chance to write again. This is not my last letter, only the last for a while. Do not doubt that I am coming back to you someday. Until I can hold you in my arms, these worn and ramshackle words are the only way to reach you. What a poor translation of love they are. Words could never do justice to you, or capture what you mean to me. Still…I love you. I swear by the starlight…I will not leave this earth until you hear those words from me.

Lacking nothing, contemplative, immortal, self-originated, sufficed with a quintessence: he who knows that constant, ageless, and ever-youthful Spirit, knows himself and does not fear death.

If artistic avant-gardes and social revolutionaries have felt a peculiar affinity for one another ever since, borrowing each other’s languages and ideas, it appears to have been insofar as both have remained committed to the idea that the ultimate, hidden truth of the world is that it is something that we make, and could just as easily make differently. In this sense, a phrase like “all power to the imagination” expresses the very quintessence of the Left.

Footsteps drew nearer, and with them the stink of Mors, potent even amid the gun smoke, the blood, and the smell of dying. She was its quintessence, the crux of it made manifest. It was in her name. She was Death itself.

Photography is the quintessence of a telling memory where it allows us to preserve time in a photograph.

On the energetic level, it often happens that the intensity and power of your aspirations are smaller than those of the doubts, resistance, and fears that plague you.

Since I have love toward myself and all that lives, I choose to manifest my creating power by bringing forth [specify your request] here and now in my life, even though fears, doubts, or resistance may remain in my personality.

In your heart is a secret room where all the gifts that life has given you, and which you haven’t opened yet, are piled up. When will you visit it and unwrap those treasures?

As if to show the totalitarian character of colonial exploitation the settler paints the native as a sort of quintessence of evil

The Scriptures are the swaddling bands of the holy child Jesus; unroll them and you find your Saviour. The quintessence of the word of God is Christ.

For the transcendental quintessence of good music can never be found or felt in the warring breast of the beast. And he who is incapable of gratitude and compassion is incapable of being good and doing good.

The Only God 'up there' is Unity of Everything, in Quintessence. Other fancies, gods and fairies are the nansy-pansies of simpletons, or is just plain-simple nonsense.

Your body may not be, but the quintessence your being and entity is made-up of, is forever.

Simply put, That Which Is - what most of us call God - is not a physical person nor a this or that spirit etc. Is the Quintessence of All That Is.

When a woman tilts her head to fasten an earring she so often becomes for the moment a quintessence of herself, he thinks. She becomes a thrilling foreign language.

Obey, love and serve the Lord with all your quintessence.

The only contact we could have with the void was through this little the void had produced as quintessence of its own emptiness; the only image we had of the void was our own poor universe. All the void we would ever know was there, in the relativity of what is, for even the void had been no more than a relative void,a void secretly shot with veins and temptations to be something, given that in a moment of crisis at its own nothingness it had been able to give rise to the universe.

they contain the essence of the plant from which they were extracted. Actually, the term essential oil is short for the original term ‘quintessential oil’. This is based on the Aristotelian idea that all matter is made up of four main elements (water, earth, air, and fire). Additionally, there was the fifth element, the quintessence, which was considered to be in spirit form or rather life force. Evaporation and distillation were viewed as ways of extracting the spirit from the plant. This has been reflected to even today’s world where we can see the word ‘spirits’ being used to describe distilled alcoholic drinks such as eau de vie, whiskey and brandy. In the current days, the idea has been let go of since we know that essential oils are actually

Henri, c'est toi ! S'écria-t-elle, plus vraiment maîtresse d'elle-même. Je refuse cette pseudo-séparation ! Je n'ai pas de choix à faire, c'est toi, bon sang ! Quoi qu'il arrive, ce sera toujours toi !

De toi... J'ai faim de toi... De toutes les manières possibles.

-Je veux que tu me redises ce que tu m'as avoué tout à l'heure... Il n'était guère nécessaire qu'il soit plus précis, Cornélia savait exactement à laquelle de ses paroles il faisait allusion. -J'ai besoin de toi, murmura-t-elle alors. Tellement... tellement besoin de toi... -Et tu... m'appartiens, ajouta-t-il en prenant son visage en coupe dans ses mains, tandis qu'il allait et venait toujours plus vite et rudement en elle. A moi seul... pour l'éternité. -Je t'appartiens, répéta-t-elle péniblement, luttant pour réussir à articuler. Je suis... à toi seul, pour l'éternité...

Earth, water, fire, air, and space are not distinct from the flavor of their innate coemergence. He who does not bifurcate nirvāṇa and saṃsāra is stated to [adhere to] the abiding nature of all encompassing reality.

All appearances and sound vibrations are like an illusion, a mirage, or a reflection; They are substances without the marks of reality. The mind that cognizes illusion is also like space; Without center or boundary, it is beyond intellectual conception.

It is neither going nor not going, neither static nor dynamic, neither substance nor nonsubstance. Neither appearances nor emptiness. The nature of all things, like space, is without any movement. One may call it “space”but it is empty of any essence and as such transcends definitions such as real or unreal, existent or nonexistent, or anything else. Thus not the slightest distinction exists between space, the mind, and intrinsic reality. Their distinctions are only designations; They are unreal and false.

But for its designation the mind is empty and nonconceptual, which means Mahāmudrā. It is empty from the beginning, like space. The essence of mind is unborn [emptiness] and is detached from any substantive reality. Like space, it is all-pervasive. Neither transferring nor transforming, it has always been empty and selfless from the very beginning.

Space is designated as empty, yet its exact nature cannot be verbalized. Similarly the mind is designated as luminously clear, yet its exact nature is empty, with no ground for definition. Thus the self-nature of mind is and has been from the very beginning like that of space.

The primordial purity of mind is of the nature of space; There is nothing one can receive or reject.

The mind in its great sublime bliss is nondual, being neither self nor others, for it perceives intrinsic reality, which is before one, behind one, and around one in all the ten directions.

For a realized mind the duality of meditation and meditator does not exist. Just as space cannot perceive itself as an object, so emptiness cannot meditate on itself. In a state of nondual awareness the diverse perceptions blend uninterruptedly, like milk and water, into the one flavor of great bliss.

The Vajrapañjara explains:  The meditation on the union of emptiness and compassion is indeed the teaching of the Buddha, Dharma, and Saṅgha.  The Sampuṭa says:  The nondiscriminatory simplicity [of mind] is described as wisdom; that which fulfills the wishes of sentient beings [without exception], the way a wish-granting gem does, [is described] as compassion.  Saraha states:  He who seeks emptiness without compassion will not realize the supreme path; Yet he who meditates mainly on compassion will not realize liberation. He who unifies the two will neither remain in saṃsāra nor in nirvāṇa. Śavari declares:  He who has attained nonevaluating awareness, who is unable to bear the misery of confused sentient beings, and who sheds tears of compassionWhile working for their benefit, turns concern for himself into concern for others.

All afflictions and deficiencies of life originate from the mind’s attachment and clinging.

. Consciousness is based in language and that means that people with superior language skills are more conscious than those who struggle with language. Consciousness is also about concepts. The more conceptual you are, the better able you are to understand reality since reality is not made from empirical “matter” but from rational, analytic concepts. Hegel imagined reality’s defining concepts to be philosophical. In fact, they are mathematical concepts, the quintessence of rationalism. You expand and heighten your consciousness by attaining a far superior understanding of concepts. This requires thinking, not feeling, not sensing, and not mystical intuiting.

The “quintessence of dust” is zero-finity-infinity. It can be expressed as the local plus the non-local, matter and mind, nature and supernature, physics and metaphysics, body and soul, Creation and the Creator, the dream and the dreamer, spacetime and singularity. Ontological mathematics alone can elucidate all of these relationships. It’s all in the math! It’s not as if it could be anywhere else. 1 + 1 = 2.