Love is the flower of life, and blossoms unexpectedly and without law, and must be plucked where it is found, and enjoyed for the brief hour of its duration.

The whole point about the true unconscious is that it is all the time moving forward, beyond the range of its own fixed laws or habits. It is no good trying to superimpose an ideal nature upon the unconscious.

The modern pantheist not only sees the god in everything, he takes photographs of it.

To the Puritan all things are impure, as somebody says.

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me! A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.

How ravished one could be without ever being touched. Ravished by dead words become obscene and dead ideas become obsessions.

The mind has no existence by itself; it is only the glitter of the sun on the surface of the waters.