William Rose Benet Quotes

Nature always wears the colors of the spirit.

Happiness is ideal, it is the work of the imagination.

Images adorn our inner life and carry great power there.

Any landscape is a condition of the spirit.

Surrealism had a great effect on me because then I realised that the imagery in my mind wasn't insanity. Surrealism to me is reality.

Nature is not only all that is visible to the eye... it also includes the inner pictures of the soul.

Anger should never be an overnight guest.

I am often mad, but I would hate to be nothing but mad: and I think I would lose what little value I may have as a writer if I were to refuse, as a matter of principle, to accept the warming rays of the sun, and to report them, whenever, and if ever, they

Obviously, circumstances alone do not make us happy or unhappy. It is the way we react to circumstances that determines our feelings. Jesus said that the kingdom of heaven is within you. That is where the kingdom of hell is, too.

In solitude, when we are least alone.

Feeling irritated, restless, afraid, and hopeless is a reminder to listen more carefully.

Dreams are stories made by and for the dreamer.

My head is my favorite swimming pool.

When I open my eyes to the outer world I feel myself as a drop in the sea. But when I close my eyes and look within, I see the whole universe as a bubble raised in the ocean of my heart.

Hell is in the here and now. So is Heaven. Quit worrying about hell or dreaming about heaven, as they are both present inside us this very moment. Every time we fall in love, we ascend to heaven. Every time we hate, envy, or fight someone, we tumble straight into the fires of hell.

I am my own heaven and hell!

What you hold in your heart, you will see in your world.

I suppose it is submerged realities that give to dreams their curious air of hyper-reality. But perhaps there is something else as well, something nebulous, gauze-like, through which everything one sees in a dream seems, paradoxically, much clearer. A pond becomes a lake, a breeze becomes a storm, a handful of dust is a desert, a grain of sulphur in the blood is a volcanic inferno. What manner of theater is it, in which we are at once playwright, actor, stage manager, scene painter and audience?

True love has no object. It is a state of being.

A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.

Those who love are but one step from heaven.

The superior man is satisfied and composed; the mean man is always full of distress.

Last night as I was sleeping, I dreamt - marvellous error! - That it was God I had here inside my heart.