None of us understand what we're doing, but we do beautiful things anyway.

The apparition of an evil, sick unconscious wild city rose before me in visible semblance, and about the dead buildings in the barren air, the bodies of the soul that built the wonderland shuffled and stalked and stalked and lurched in attitudes of immemorial nightmare all around.

I had a moment of clarity, saw the feeling in the heart of things, walked out to the garden crying.

Scientist alone is true poet he gives us the moon he promises the stars he'll make us a new universe if it comes to that.

I don’t think there’s any problem with advancing consciousness and becoming more and more aware of the struggle, not with the world, not to convince other people to do anything. The really interesting think is the struggle with the self, and the relation with the self, and there is no end to the improvement that can be done there, the discoveries that can be made.

Whoever controls the media, the images, controls the culture.

Which way will the sunflower turn surrounded by millions of suns?