Even if it doesn't work, there is something healthy and invigorating about direct action

Real love is never perplexed, never qualifies, never rejects, never demands. It replenishes, by grace of restoring unlimited circulation. It burns, because it knows the true meaning of sacrifice. It is life illuminated.

Your whole past is like a long sleep which would have been forgotten had there been no memory, but remembrance is there in the blood and the blood is like an ocean in which everything is washed away but that which is new and more substantial even than life - reality.

The waking mind, you see, is the least serviceable in the arts.

There will be more calamities, more death, more despair. Not the slightest indication of a change anywhere. The cancer of our time is eating us away. Our heroes have killed themselves, or are killing themselves.

And what is the potential man, after all? Is he not the sum of all that is human? Divine, in other words?

The most difficult thing to adjust to, apparently, is peace and contentment.