Renunciation (n.) is like rowing when its background is religious: one works constantly toward the goal with one's back constantly turned to it — so does one labor oneself out of the temporal.
Renunciation (n.) teaches love's sweetness: no one knows it better than he who gives love up while having the power to realize it.
Renunciation (n.) that is still only possible is itself a coveting — freedom staring so hard to keep guilt away that it cannot stop staring at guilt.
Renunciation (n.) makes the impossible possible — spiritually, by waiving one's claim to it; the wish is bent inward, not lost.
Renunciation (n.) half done is cruel: the moment a man stops entirely desiring without entirely renouncing, the great thing he craved may arrive, and he is life's laughing-stock.
Renunciation (n.) and youthful greed both say "to gain all," the one who gave up everything and the boy who wants everything, and no two people are further apart, as the old man become a child is least like a child.
Renunciation (n.) by the man who keeps all his goods breeds a melancholy suspicion that it is only imaginary, and he may wish them taken away so it could become serious.
Renunciation (n.) is most decisive when one stays put among everything forsaken: the daily difficulties and the hatred of those left behind are its formal attestation.