...it seemed to me I was living in an insane asylum of my own making. I wnt about with all these fantastic figures: centaurs, nymphs, satyrs, gods and goddesses, as though they were patients and I was analyzing them. I read a Greek or Negro myth as if a lunatic were telling me his anamnesis.

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

Through pride we are ever deceiving ourselves. But deep down below the surface of the average conscience a still, small voice says to us, something is out of tune.

The most terrifying thing is to accept oneself completely.

I find that all my thoughts circle around God like the planets around the sun, and are as irresistibly attracted by Him. I would feel it to be the grossest sin if I were to oppose any resistance to this force.

We can keep from a child all knowledge of earlier myths, but we cannot take from him the need for mythology.

Becoming conscious is of course a sacrilege against nature; it is as though you had robbed the unconscious of something.