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

Our civilisation cannot afford to let the censor-moron loose. The censor-moron does not really hate anything but the living and growing human consciousness.

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.

It always seemed to me that men wore their beards, like they wear their neckties, for show.

I prefer unlucky things. Luck is vulgar. Who wants what luck would bring? I don't.

We only seem to learn from Life that Life doesn't matter so much as it seemed to do - it's not so burningly important, after all, what happens. We crawl, like blinking sea-creatures, out of the Ocean onto a spur of rock, we creep over the promontory bewildered and dazzled and hurting ourselves, then we drop in the ocean on the other side: and the little transit doesn't matter so much.

Beauty is a mystery. You can neither eat it nor make flannel out of it.