Everything is His. What are we? Is He dead? Is He sleeping? He, without whose command a leaf does not fall, a heart does not beat, who is nearer to me than my own self. It is bosh and nonsense – to do good or do bad or do fuzz. We do nothing. We are not. The world is not. He is. He is. Only He is. None else is. He is.
(CW. Vol.9, p.35, Swamil’s letter to Mrs. G.W hale on 23 August, 1894.)