Between the dreams of night and day there is not so great a difference.

In all earnestness I asked myself what kind of world I had stumbled into.

Our intellect has created a new world that dominates nature, and has populated it with monstrous machines.

We want to have certainties and no doubts- results and no experiments- without even seeing that certainties can arise only through doubt and results only thorough experiment.

Every psychic advance of man arises from the suffering of the soul.

The biographies of great artists make it abundantly clear that the creative urge is often so imperious that it battens on their humanity and yokes everything to the service of the work, even at the cost of health and ordinary human happiness. The unborn work in the psyche of the artist is a force of nature that achieves its end either with tyrannical might or with the subtle cunning of nature herself, quite regardless of the personal fate of the man who is its vehicle.

The capacity for inner dialogue is a touchstone for outer objectivity.