“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] These are your own secrets I am bringing out into the open. [...]

They speak the inner secrets, in other words. [...]

[...] Now he is secretive about matters he considers important.”

[...] They were trying to discover the secret of heredity within plant life.

He wanted to shout your decision (to leave Artistic) to the skies of course, and thought he was quite reasonable by saying nothing for a while, at your request; yet secretly he thought that your attitude of silence meant that you were not proud of the decision, did not want it known, that you were acting ashamed of it and wanted it kept quiet, rather than as a triumph.

[...] Now I wonder why we were so secretive, but at the time it seemed much better to keep the world with all of its questions out. [...]

[...] It had been impossible to keep the sessions absolutely secret. [...]

[...] As Ruburt mentioned, years ago in Sayre he would find someplace in your apartment that seemed somehow secret for his workroom. [...]

[...] The earlier beliefs represented a far better representation of inner reality, in which man, observing nature, let nature speak and reveal its secrets.

[...] Life accepted on its own terms will yield secrets of joy and peace and exuberance. [...]

[...] They are usually hairy, and their young are fed with milk secreted by the female. [...]

You wondered in the secret depths of your mind how well-suited Ruburt was for the solitude you believed necessary to produce good work. [...]

[...] They were trying to discover the secret of heredity within plant life.

[...] Papers in connection with the landlord himself now, kept secretly, in a place not often used, within or behind an old desk. [...]

[...] She was very tired, in fact more so than I knew, and secretly she hoped for a short session. [...]

Stand secret and silent,

[...] But then people who spook out the universe usually find secret and hidden corners where they can play and work to their heart’s content.

And while I speak to you, my lungs
Rise and fall behind breastbones,
Fill their secret tissue mouths
With the air that swirls in this bright room.
They breathe for me the very breath
Upon which all I am depends,
Yet I do not know how this is done.
Who is this ghost,
This other one?
Who moves the lung? [...]

[...] What he enjoyed, however, was the radio’s fairly secret quality—the fact that he was hidden, and yet his voice went out into the world. [...]

(To Bobby.) And I hesitate to bring this up but our friend, here in the middle, was a Brother in an order in the 15th century in Denmark and it was a secret order that operated underground, so to speak. [...]

[...] He also learns some secrets of color through the man mentioned earlier, and there is a binding agent in his work not recognized as such. [...]