We are cruel when someone refuses to play the role in which we have cast him. We judge a person only according to his relationship towards us.

The artist is the only one who knows that the world is a subjective creation, that there is a choice to be made, a selection of elements.

The suppression of inner patterns in favor of patterns created by society is dangerous to us.

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source.

The only transformer and alchemist that turns everything into gold is love. The only magic against death, aging, ordinary life, is love.

In the world of the dreamer there was solitude: all the exaltations and joys came in the moment of preparation for living. They took place in solitude. But with action came anxiety, and the sense of insuperable effort made to match the dream, and with it came weariness, discouragement, and the flight into solitude again. And then in solitude, in the opium den of remembrance, the possibility of pleasure again.

We love best those who are, or act for us, a self we do not wish to be or act out.