I've always believed that a writer has got to remain an outsider.

The real issue is not whether two and two make four or whether two and two make five, but whether life advances by men who love words or by men who love living.

I had never doubted my own abilities, but I was quite prepared to believe that "the world" would decline to recognize them.

Simple perception then is a fallacy. Besides the conscious prejudices that we are aware of imposing on the world, there are a thousand subconscious prejudices that we assume to be actuality.

The "passion for incredulity" can produce as much self-deception as the uncritical will to believe.

Faculty X is a sense of reality of other places and other times, and it is the possession of it—fragmentary and uncertain though it is—that distinguishes man from all other animals.

But Zarathustra made it clear in which direction the answer lay; it is towards the artist-psychologist, the intuitional thinker. There are very few such men in the world's literature; the great artists are not thinkers, the great thinkers are seldom artists.