Our heart glows, and secret unrest gnaws at the root of our being. Dealing with the unconscious has become a question of life for us.

If there is a fear of falling, the only safety consists in deliberately jumping.

I am an orphan, alone: nevertheless I am found everywhere. I am one, but opposed to myself. I am youth and old man at one and the same time. I have known neither father nor mother, because I have had to be fetched out of the deep like a fish, or fell like a white stone from heaven. In woods and mountains I roam, but I am hidden in the innermost soul of man. I am mortal for everyone, yet I am not touched by the cycle of aeons.

The unsatisfied yearning of the artist reaches back to the primordial image in the unconscious which is best fitted to compensate the inadequacy and one-sidedness of the present.

New ideas are not only the enemies of old ones; they also appear often in an extremely unacceptable form.

The sure path can only lead to death.

Nights through dreams tell the myths forgotten by the day.