“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] The day after that, a dear friend brought us two six-week-old kittens, littermates fresh from a nearby farm. [...]

From Session 837 for February 28, held on the evening of the day Billy died: “My dear friends: Existence is larger than life or death. [...]

So, dear reader, look at the law as it stands in this country with somewhat more kindly eyes than you have before — for it at least legally establishes a belief in your innocence, and for all of its failings, it protects you from the far more fanatical aspects, say, of any religion’s laws.

[...] However as your regular senses are limited according to the plane which you inhabit—in your case dear friends on your plane extremely limited, I’m afraid—so are the corresponding inner senses limited.

[...] I admit that I miss you occasionally between sessions, dear friends; and Ruburt, your voice almost reminds me now of your old one.

[...] And my dear Joseph, at times I peek in on you between sessions. [...]

[...] The abilities of the tree are latent in man as, dear Joseph, are the abilities latent in the tree.

[...] But my dear Joseph, there is no true practicality in smothering your abilities by working in a position where you cannot use your abilities. [...]

[...] And now my dear friends I bid you a fond good night. [...]

[...] The inner senses, my dear Joseph, are senses which deal with realities beneath camouflage patterns, and which carry data of these realities, these inner realities, to the body. [...]

[...] Time and space, dear friends, are both camouflage patterns, therefore the fact that the inner senses can conquer time and space is not, after all, so surprising. [...]

[...] Ah dear body, then, how lovely and blessed your untruth, which is sensate and feels desire through the hollowest of bones. [...]

[...] Jane’s and my dear friend, Debbie Harris, began making copies of all of the Seth sessions, plus the transcripts of Jane’s ESP classes, for the “collection” of Jane’s and my work in the archives of Yale University Library. [...]

[...] Used judiciously, it can be a good outlet for excess nervous energy; but not, dear Ruburt, day after day after day. [...]

[...] We will still take many sessions before you attain any real understanding of these matters, and my dear biggy-boos, I hope to add to our lectures with exercises in the experience of the various inner senses as we go along.

[...] They sit quite comfortably on their living room couch, with dinner on the coffee table, surrounded by all of the dear, homey paraphernalia that is familiar to your society.

Indeed like you, my dear Joseph, Seth said. [...]

My dear Joseph, one word only. [...]

[...] Added to this is his strong domestic feelings now as a woman — and this, my dear Joseph, explains the incredible amount of furniture movings in which you have been involved.

I suggest a brief break, and let me congratulate you my dear Joseph upon your latest manipulation of camouflage pattern in terms of your entryway. [...]

[...] Not boredom, dear Ruburt, you don’t have to worry. [...]

Dear Jane & Bob,

(To Ned.) Though we had an honest answer from someone over here in the corner, I would still like a more adventurous spirit so when you ask yourselves the questions during the week then allow yourself, my dear friend, to feel the uniqueness and the integrity of your own personality as you now know it and realize that there is none like it, in this universe or any other. [...]

[...] That other incidents of which I know are not, in those terms, my dear Lady of Florence, shameful. [...]

I realize your predicament, so do not think I am being unfeeling; and yet, my dear friends, on other levels those failures were considered successes. [...]

Good night, dear friends. [...]

This, dear friends, is quite enough for one session. [...]

To me your world is a dream universe which I visit by invitation, a probable reality that I find unique and very dear — but one in which I can no longer have direct experience. [...]

As with a landscape there is often an attempt, my dear Joseph, to steal, so to speak, those elements of life with which the artist is pleased, and transpose them or transfix them, in such a manner that they will attain an invulnerability to other elements with which the artist is dissatisfied.

[...] The self-destructive behavior was much more advanced now, though, and I could only hope and trust that my dear wife’s feelings of panic were an attempt on her personality’s part to at least discharge some of the dangerous emotional charge that must have accumulated over the years, while being repressed. [...]