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“You are safe," he said firmly. "You have my name and my family, my clan, and if necessary, the protection of my body as well. The man willna lay hands on ye again, while I live.”

“You are sauntering along the back streets of Avallon; you step into a tavern for a cup of wine. A great lummox claims that you have molested his wife; he takes up his cutlass and comes at you. So now! With your knife! Draw and throw! All in a single movement! You advance, pull your knife from the villain's neck, wipe it on his sleeve. If in fact you have molested the dead churl's wife, bid her begone! The episode has quite dampened your spirit. But you are attacked from another side by another husband. Quick!”

“You are saved, not because of what you do, but because of what Christ did. And you are special, not because of what you do, but because of whose you are. And you are his. And because we are his, let's forget the shortcuts and stay on the main road. He knows the way. He drew the map. He knows the way home.”

“You are saying, are you not, I said to Manuelito, that stories have more room in them than ideas? [...] He laughed. That is correct, Señor. It is as if ideas are made of blocks. Rigid and hard. And stories are made of a gauze that is elastic. You can almost see through it, so what is beyond is tantalizing. You can't quite make it out; and because the imagination is always moving forward, you yourself are constantly stretching. Stories are the way spirit is exercised.”

“You are sculpting yourself. Of course it's painful. Carving every detail you want in your life into the tender fabrics of your own existence. Your body, your mind, your business, your home. Is it not beautiful? How there are those of us that are willing to bear insufferable pain, all to achieve their highest form. And then there's the rest of the world, fragile creatures, porcelain dolls, the unscuplted masses. All too scared to bear the burden. Pain is the seed of power. If you can not tolerate it, you should not compete with those who will.”

“You are silent now who once stood on battlefields ravaged by destruction unimaginable, holding in those desperate places the line of freedom for others you would never know, and who would never know you. And being one of those you never knew, I would give all I have to clasp your hand one single time, look into eyes that witnessed the bloodied carnage that results when freedom refuses to bow to chains of any kind, and simply say 'thank you.”

“You are sitting and smoking; you believe that you are sitting in your pipe, and that your pipe is smoking you; you are exhaling yourself in bluish clouds. You feel just fine in this position, and only one thing gives you worry or concern: how will you ever be able to get out of your pipe?”

“You are sitting at your crossroads right now, and two different versions of you can emerge in this next phase of your life. You can choose either the complacent, settled, comfort-seeking, easy-road-chasing, and excuse-making version or the relentless, hungry, dedicated, challenge-facing, risk-taking, reality-checking, and constantly adapting version.”

“You are sitting in my chair, my lord." She said the words very civilly, she thought. Although he quirked a brow and lowered his chin as if giving her one of those looks. Like really? In a way that wasn't a question. She was telling a fae king, a hawk fae king, and a guest of the dark fae, that he should be sitting in her seat? But she didn't stop there. "You may sit there if it pleases you." She pointed to Micala's seat since he was not at the meal. Her mother's mouth gaped and for once she didn't have an immediate rebuke ready for Ritasia. The king gave Ritasia such a sinister smile, she was afraid she might have gone a little too far with her first encounter with him. She quickly remembered her manners, curtseyed, though, because she wasn't wearing a gown, she thought she looked a little ridiculous, then looked back up at him.”

“You are sitting on a computer in the projector cabin of a unique cinema hall in which the screen is not made up of white cloth. Instead, there is a big transparent room full of white liquid. You click on a movie file on your computer, the projector starts throwing light on the room of white liquid, real characters start emerging from the white liquid. You get attached to the characters. You start feeling their pain and pleasures. That room of white liquid is Space-Time or Maya. You are a soul sitting on the computer. The movie file is Karma-Desires. If you don’t like the movie, you can change it and play a better movie.”

“You are smart people. You know that the tax cuts have not fueled record revenues. You know what it takes to establish causality. You know that the first order effect of cutting taxes is to lower tax revenues. We all agree that the ultimate reduction in tax revenues can be less than this first order effect, because lower tax rates encourage greater economic activity and thus expand the tax base. No thoughtful person believes that this possible offset more than compensated for the first effect for these tax cuts. Not a single one.”

“You are so accustomed to think of yourselves as bodies having consciousness that you just cannot imagine consciousness as having bodies. Once you realize that bodily existence is but a state of mind, a movement in consciousness, that the ocean of consciousness is infinite and eternal, and that, when in touch with consciousness, you are the witness only, you will be able to withdraw beyond consciousness altogether.”