“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] Maybe that was connected to my feeling of anticipation …

[...] I said I thought that maybe her impatience was meant to serve as an impetus to her healing speed. [...]

[...] Once head felt very full on that side, then the moisture felt as if it were flowing downward; pooling in ear maybe, then down neck—all right side; then as I continue to write and try not to concentrate on all this—a feeling in right leg below knee of blockage for a moment; uncomfortable; I massage it just for a minute; the feeling of moisture then goes into right foot. [...]

[...] I know you’re tired, but maybe I can do it. [...]

“Maybe,” Rob said, then added with a grin, “Maybe he actually is someone who survived death.”

“Maybe it’s your subconscious,” I said to Rob, but he was already asking another question:

“Maybe he’s a part of both of our subconscious minds in a way we don’t understand,” I said.

[...] Maybe someday we’ll be able to use it in a book, but in the meantime I’m not going to worry about it. Maybe he’ll keep on with it like this, and it’ll end up in a book of its own someday. [...]

[...] Maybe I was tired.

[...] “Maybe I’m not ready for this,” she said. [...]

[...] Maybe, we thought, we could get supper finished before Paul showed up, if we got started with it a little early. [...]

[...] “Or maybe it’ll turn out to be a project in itself.” [...]

[...] Maybe we better just look stuff over instead.”

[...] “Give me a cigarette—maybe that’ll wake me up,” she said. [...]

(“Maybe you can light a fire under Fred about the letter,” I’d told Pete. [...]

[...] And maybe that stand was a good one, I thought, since it was definite. [...]

“Maybe you should write the dream down and date it,” Rob said.

[...] Maybe I just noticed subconsciously that her eyes were failing and then made up the dream.”

“Maybe. [...]

[...] If I hadn’t corrected him, Seth could have evidently interpreted the whole dream from that viewpoint, that of Mrs. Patterson, and the result would have been just as valid—different, maybe, but I’ll bet with a lot of similarities.” [...]

[...] Maybe he can do one session a week on the book, and one on other stuff we want, or that comes up....” [...]

[...] “If your eyes keep improving,” I said, “maybe eventually you’ll end up with weaker glasses.” [...]

[...] Maybe that too was a sign of improvement, I said. [...]

[...] But maybe we’re just in the middle, sensing imperfectly the existence of other remote versions of ourselves that will appear in a ‘future’ too far ahead of us to know. Maybe I’m some distant ancestor of Seth’s in those terms, alive in my life but only a memory in his. [...]

[...] Maybe I’m alone in my interest here, for even Jane doesn’t express any great curiosity about the time she has invested in the Seth material; she just delivers it. [...]

“When I’m Seth, I’m just a small part of his reality, maybe only the portion I can grasp, but I bask in that personified energy. [...]

[...] Maybe our idea of identity is like a magic circle we’ve drawn around our minds, so that everything outside seems dark and alien, unselflike. [...]

(“Yes, and then maybe I wouldn’t answer any of the mail.” [...]

(“Maybe. [...]

[...] So maybe the body is absorbing those growths, as I’ve been suggesting it can do in my dehypnotizing massages each afternoon.