These sociologists who talk to facilely about the sacred are like a man who keeps a toothless old circus lion around the house in order to experience the thrills of the jungle.

Nothing is more singular about this generation than its addiction to music.

We are like ignorant shepherds living on a site where great civilizations once flourished. The shepherds play with the fragments that pop up to the surface, having no notion of the beautiful structures of which they were once a part.

As soon as tradition has come to be recognized as tradition, it is dead.

The substance of my being has been informed by the books I learned to care for.

The self is the modern substitute for the soul.

The spirit is at home, if not entirely satisfied, in America.