Everyman, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths.

When you know what men are capable of you marvel neither at their sublimity nor their baseness. There are no limits in either direction apparently.

Sin, guilt, neurosis; they are one and the same, the fruit of the tree of knowledge.

The legal system is often a mystery, and we, its priests, preside over rituals baffling to everyday citizens.

To be cured, we must rise from our graves and throw off the cerements of the dead. Nobody can do it for another - it is a private affair which is best done collectively. We must die as egos and be born again in the swarm, not separated and self-hypnotized, but individual and related.

Forget the books you want to write. Think only of the book you are writing.

Music is the can-opener of the soul.