For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken. It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack.

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

And every true artist is the salvation of every other. But only artists produce for each other the world that is fit to live in.

Are you willing to be sponged out, erased, cancelled, made nothing? Are you willing to be made nothing? Dipped into oblivion? If not, you will never really change.

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.

I would rather sit still in a state of peace on a stone than ride in the motor-car of a multi-millionaire and feel the peacelessness of the multi-millionaire poisoning me.

The world is a raving idiot, and no man can kill it: though I’ll do my best. But you’re right. We must rescue ourselves as best we can.