Choegyal Namkhai Quotes & Sayings

Mass schooling damages children. We don't need any more of it. And under the guise that it is the same thing as education, it has been picking our pockets just as Socrates predicted it would thousands of years ago. One of the surest ways to recognize real education is by the fact that it doesn't cost very much, doesn't depend on expensive toys or gadgets. The experiences that produce it and the self-awareness that propels it are nearly free. It is hard to turn a dollar on education. But schooling is a wonderful hustle, getting sharper all the time. — John Taylor Gatto

A word of advice, my sweet Emmett - mourn the losses because they are many. But celebrate the victories because they are few. — Debbie Novotny

Drugs and drinking affect every family I know, country and city, middle-class and poor. — Bonnie Jo Campbell

Only Norway regularly sends colonists from Europe, and we all know of that country's ecological disasters. — John Scalzi

Sometimes I think war is God's way of teaching us geography. — Paul Rodriguez

Too many sit at the banquet table of the gospel of Jesus Christ and merely nibble at the feast placed before them. They go through the motions - attending their meetings perhaps, glancing at scriptures, repeating familiar prayers - but their hearts are far away. — Joseph B. Wirthlin

Thoughtful minds make little use of this expression: the happy and the unhappy. In this world, clearly a vestibule of another, no one is happy. — Victor Hugo

Modo, et modo, non habebent modum.
By-and-by has no end. — Saint Augustine

Although he had changed his name, his history came with him, even to his writing. The rhythm of his rain-soaked childhood became a sequence of words. His memories of the understory of the great forest burst into lyrical phrases, as resinous as the sap of a pinecone, as crisp as the shell of a beetle. Sentences grew long, then pulled up short, taking on the tempo of the waves upon the shore, or swayed gently, like the plaintive song of a lone harmonica. His fury became essays that pointed, stabbed, and burned. His convictions played out with the monotonous determination of a printing press. And his affections became poems, as warm and supple as the wool of a well-loved sheep. — Pam Munoz Ryan