“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] If the skirmish is not at the front door or in the neighborhood, the animal consciousness simply watches all with a wary or amused mental attitude. [...]

(Pause.) If you take this information to heart, you should then intuitively realize that by giving birth to the child (pause) you performed a kindly gesture, and opened a door. [...]

[...] Even landscapes, elemental but fragile, built up from the ebb and flowing voice of traffic as it passes by your door. [...]

[...] They will prevent too much inner involvement, open new doors, bring psychic refreshment, and also provide our hungry friend with his diet of new ideas. [...]

This does not mean you need children in the house next door. [...]

[...] As I went through a double revolving door I caught a glimpse of a young man, say in his mid-twenties, who was an exact duplicate of my own son, who I knew was not in the mall, but was away on business of some kind. [...]

[...] Stuart was back at our front door. [...]

[...] After the seascape Seth inspected an oil of a tree that I had painted in 1960; this hung beyond the seascape, toward the front door.)

[...] (Pause.) There is an argument among adults, and a door slams. [...]

(During break Don P. remarked about the mistletoe above the door and that it could be an oak leaf if it was thought sacred.)

[...] I wish you good luck on your experiments on the door. [...]

[...] And if I were you, I would tiptoe out the door before someone tells him what you have come up with, for I am also dependent to some idea upon his receptivity and ideas. [...]

He (Ruburt) need not try to be the perfect self, then, the superimage—and in fact to some extent he found himself the supplicative [self], knocking upon creaturehood’s earthly door, as any creature who found himself wounded through misadventure might ask aid from another. [...]

[...] There was more than a little irony and humor connected with my efforts here, though, for no sooner had I sealed the second letter than there was a knock on the front door of the hill house. [...]

[...] Two doors to the room, and old-fashioned furniture.

(Our cat, Willy, had cried at the kitchen door.)

[...] The crippled black cat we’ve made friends with here cried outside our door, so I let him in and fed him. [...]

(To Wally.) Now to our door opening and closing friend over here, a few comments. [...]

[...] Think of your mind as a door. [...]

I will not get into Ruburt’s immediate past life, since he would slam the door in my face right now. [...]

[...] They stood up, walked across the floor and disappeared in the crowd in the anteroom by the door. [...]