Observing the stream of eternal and simple truth is the same for all who look upon the fountainhead of consciousness.

There are many, many, many worlds branching out at each moment you become aware of your environment and then make a choice.

I thought, gazing at the beauty of the landscape again, it is as though the fiend has prevailed against the angels, and fixed his throne in a heaven, to rule it as though it were Hell.

What a man thinks of himself, that it is which determines, or rather indicates, his fate.

We are but faint-hearted crusaders...our expeditions are but tours...half the walk is but retracing our steps. We should go forth on the shortest walks, perchance, in the spirit of stirring adventure, never to return, --prepared to send back our embalmed hearts only as relics to our desolate kingdoms...if you have paid your debts and made your will, and settled all your affairs, and are a free man, then you are ready for a walk.

I was always observing. Even while talking, living, going through every motion, I was watching myself and the situation. That's a writer. Always observing.