I can never decide whether my dreams are the result of my thoughts, or my thoughts the result of my dreams.

I never know when I sit down, just what I am going to write. I make no plan; it just comes, and I don't know where it comes from.

The novel is the one bright book of life. Books are not life. They are only tremulations on the ether. But the novel as a tremulation can make the whole man alive tremble.

Now in November nearer comes the sun down the abandoned heaven.

Let man only approach his own self with a deep respect, even reverence for all that the creative soul, the God-mystery within us, puts forth. Then we shall all be sound and free. Lewdness is hateful because it impairs our integrity and our proud being. The creative, spontaneous soul sends forth its promptings of desire and aspiration in us. These promptings are our true fate, which is our business to fulfill. A fate dictated from outside, from theory or from circumstance, is a false fate.

The mind can assert anything and pretend it has proved it. My beliefs I test on my body, on my intuitional consciousness, and when I get a response there, then I accept.

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