The artist is not a person endowed with free will who seeks his own ends, but one who allows it to realize its supreme purpose through him.

Our world has become dehumanized. Man feels himself isolated in the cosmos, because he is no longer involved in nature.

The more uncertain I have felt about myself, the more there has grown up in me a feeling of kinship with all things.

Active imagination requires a state of reverie, half-way between sleep and waking.

Music is the application of sounds to the canvas of silence.

It is often tragic to see how blatantly a man bungles his own life and the lives of others yet remains totally incapable of seeing how much the whole tragedy originates in himself, and how he continually feeds it and keeps it going. Not consciously, of course—for consciously he is engaged in bewailing and cursing a faithless world that recedes further and further into the distance. Rather, it is an unconscious factor which spins the illusions that veil his world. And what is being spun is a cocoon, which in the end will completely envelop him.

Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.