To every man who struggles with his own soul in mystery, a book that is a book flowers once, and seeds, and is gone.

The human consciousness is really homogeneous. There is no complete forgetting, even in death.

Do not allow to slip away from you freedoms the people who came before you won with such hard knocks.

When each thing is unique in itself, there can be no comparison made.... There is only this strange recognition of present otherness.

He knew that conscience was chiefly fear of society or fear of oneself.

This is the very worst wickedness, that we refuse to acknowledge the passionate evil that is in us. This makes us secret and rotten.

Every profound new movement makes a great swing also backwards to some older, half-forgotten way of consciousness.