In masturbation there is nothing but loss.

It is a curious thing how poets tend to become ascetics.... Even a debauch for them is a self-flagellation. They go on the loose in cruelty against themselves, admitting that they are pandering to, and despising, the lower self.

How I hate the attitude of ordinary people to life. How I loathe ordinariness! How from my soul I abhor nice simple people, with their eternal price list. It makes my blood boil.

Towns oftener swamp one than carry one out onto the big ocean of life.

Men live in glad obedience to the masters they believe in, or they live in a frictional opposition to the master they wish to undermine.

Psychoanalysis is out, under a therapeutic disguise, to do away entirely with the moral faculty in man.

To our senses, the elements are four and have ever been, and will ever be for they are the elements of life, of poetry, and of perception, the four Great Ones, the Four Roots, the First Four of Fire and the Wet, Earth and the wide Air of the World. To find the other many elements, you must go to the laboratory and hunt them down. But the four we have always with us, they are our world. Or rather, they have us with them.