The world of men is dreaming, it has gone mad in its sleep, and a snake is strangling it, but it can't wake up.

Nobody can have the soul of me. My mother has had, and nobody can have it again. Nobody can come into my very self again, and breathe me like an atmosphere.

The day of the absolute is over, and we're in for the strange gods once more.

The true self is not aware that it is a self. A bird, as it sings, sings itself. But not according to a picture. It has no idea of itself.

I hate the actor and audience business. An author should be in among the crowd, kicking their shins or cheering them on to some mischief or merriment.

An illusion which is a real experience is worth having.

What you intuitively desire, that is possible to you.