The real enemy can always be met and conquered, or won over. Real antagonism is based on love, a love which has not recognized itself.

The poem is the dream made flesh, in a two-fold sense: as work of art, and as life, which is a work of art.

The vast difference between astrology and other sciences, if I may put it thus, is that astrology deals not with facts but with profundities. The solid ground on which the scientist pretends to rest gives way, in astrology, to imponderables.

Every day that we fail to live out the maximum of our potentialities we kill the Shakespeare, Dante, Homer, Christ which is in us.

Our own physical body possesses a wisdom which we who inhabit the body lack. We give it orders which make no sense.

Perhaps I have not lined his portrait too clearly. But if he exists, if only for the reason that I have imagined him to be. He came from the blue and returns to the blue. He has not perished, he is not lost. Neither will he be forgotten.

It's the pleasure of picking up the brush and seeing what happens.