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Quote by Robert Walser

Work

The Walk and Other Stories

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Author

Robert Walser
Robert Walser

Robert Walser was a Swiss writer known for his unique style and profound inner world. His works spanned various literary forms, including novels, essays, and poetry, and had a profound impact on 20th-century literature. more

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“Immortality: "It is impossible to be conscious of being unconscious." It is not possible to be aware of being unconscious from your own perspective. You cannot be aware of not being aware. You can be less aware/conscious, such as when you are asleep, but not completely unconscious (dead), because time would stand still for you. A billion years could pass, and you would not know it. How do you know you are dead? It is not possible to be aware of any gaps in life; it is continuous and never-ending from your own point of view. Death and birth are a continuous event from your own perspective. You will die physically, but you will be born into a new physical body. Being born happens, or you would not be here now. You were born into this life. It is what we know happens. There is no evidence anything else happens. True or false?”

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Book:The Present
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“In shukladhyan (Pure contemplation as the Self, the Soul), whole world begins to look faultless (nirdosh). In dharmadhyan, despite seeing the other person at fault; one will uphold him as being faultless that is ‘dhramadhyan’, ‘what is the other person’s fault? He is simply instrumental (nimit) in it. It is due to the effect of my own karmas that I have encountered him.”

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Author:Dada Bhagwan
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“Where my soul went during that swoon I cannot tell. Whatever she saw, or wherever she travelled in her trance on that strange night she kept her own secret; never whispering a word to Memory, and baffling imagination by an indissoluble silence. She may have gone upward, and come in sight of her eternal home, hoping for leave to rest now, and deeming that her painful union with matter was at last dissolved. While she so deemed, an angel may have warned her away from heaven's threshold, and, guiding her weeping down, have bound her, once more, all shuddering and unwilling, to that poor frame, cold and wasted, of whose companionship she was grown more than weary. I know she re-entered her prison with pain, with reluctance, with a moan and a long shiver. The divorced mates, Spirit and Substance, were hard to re-unite: they greeted each other, not in an embrace, but a racking sort of struggle.”

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Author:Charlotte Brontë
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