The books and magazines streamed in. He could buy them all, they piled up around him and even while he read, the number of those still to be read disturbed him. … they stood in rows, weighing down his life like a possession which he did not succeed in subordinating to his personality

Do not wish to jump immediately from the streams to the sea, because one has to go through easier things to the more difficult

Action is the stream, and contemplation is the spring.

Life is . . . a stream flowing from high mountain ranges which wring it from the clouds, coursing down through all the manifold ways in which the water comes down at Lodore to the sea of eternity. Adolescence is the chief rapids in this river of life which may cut a deep canyon and leave its shores a desert.

In the confrontation between the stream and the rock, the stream always wins, not through strength but by perseverance.

If all of this, all the life of a stream of water, can be nothing but a pile of atoms, how much more is possible?

Once you get into this great stream of history, you can’t get out.

Take it from a guy: If you’re in love with somebody, you will swim the stream, you will climb the mountain, you will slay the dragon. You’re going to get to her somehow, some way.

A dead thing goes with the stream, but only a living thing can go against it.

I drive around the streets an inch away from weeping, ashamed of my sentimentality and possible love.

A generous heart, kind speech, and a life of service and compassion are the things which renew humanity.

They say love is a stream that will find its course.

A truer image of the world, I think, is obtained by picturing things as entering into the stream of time from an eternal world outside, than from a view which regards time as the devouring tyrant of all that is.