Creativity is the ability to introduce order into the randomness of nature.

A ruling intelligentsia, whether in Europe, Asia or Africa, treats the masses as raw material to be experimented on, processed, and wasted at will.

Man staggers through life yapped at by his reason, pulled and shoved by his appetites, whispered to by fears, beckoned by hopes. Small wonder that what he craves most is self-forgetting.

The weakness of a soul is proportionate to the number of truths that must be kept from it.

Facts are counterrevolutionary.

Unpredictability, too, can become monotonous.

Man was nature's mistake she neglected to finish him and she has never ceased paying for her mistake.