Knowledge (n.) of the clearest kind depends on sensitive organs that bring the world into the body and know it only as our own bodily states.
Knowledge (n.) in the conventional sense makes the knower a controller and the known a servant; God knows the world as its master, the Tao does not.
Knowledge (n.) stuffed in by study and written explanations now passes for practice, where once a single sentence sent men to rest in spontaneity.
Knowledge (n.) may be round like the earth: plunge deep enough into material particulars and you may come out, quite unexpectedly, at the universal.
Knowledge (n.) of the world is, in one sense, self-knowledge: knowing translates outside events into states of the body and brain.
Knowledge (n.) is more than know-how, and wisdom more than predicting and ordering.
Knowledge (n.) is what I am: the feeling of a distant star is as much I as an itch on the sole of my foot.
Knowledge (n.) once had cannot be locked up — LSD, like atomic energy, raises only the question of who is competent to control it.
Knowledge (n.) was perfect among the ancients when they did not yet know there were things; next came things, then distinctions, then judgments — and with judgment, the Tao was destroyed.