Mankind has got to get back to the rhythm of the cosmos.

Don't be on the side of the angels, it's too lowering.

There are vast realms of consciousness still undreamed of -vast ranges of experience, like humming of unseen harps, we know nothing of, within us.

Gods should be iridescent, like the rainbow in the storm. Man creates a God in his own image, and the gods grow old along with the men that made them... But the god-stuff roars eternally, like the sea, with too vast a sound to be heard.

Thought is a man in his wholeness, wholly attending.

The Moon! Artemis! the great goddess of the splendid past of men! Are you going to tell me she is a dead lump?

Since obscenity is the truth of our passion today, it is the only stuff of art -- or almost the only stuff.