The creativity of people on the schizophrenic end of the human continuum is a creativity that springs from the inability to accept the standardized cultural denials of the real nature of ex­perience. And the price of this kind of almost "extra human" crea­tivity is to live on the brink of madness, as men have long known.

If everyone lives roughly the same lies about the same thing, there is no one to call them liars. They jointly establish their own sanity and themselves normal.

Love is the problem of an animal.

Once you base your whole life striving on a desperate lie, and try to implement that lie, you instrument your own undoing.

Relationship is thus always slavery of a kind, which leaves a residue of guilt.

What man really fears is not so much extinction, but extinction with insignificance.

Man is literally split in two: he has an awareness of his own splendid uniqueness in that he sticks out of nature with a towering majesty, and yet he goes back into the ground a few feet in order blindly and dumbly to rot and disappear forever.