There's something perverse about women...they're all masochists at heart.

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.

Men are not suffering from the lack of good literature, good art, good theatre, good music, but from that which has made it impossible for these to become manifest. In short, they are suffering from the silent shameful conspiracy (the more shameful since it is unacknowledged) which has bound them together as enemies of art and artists.

The only difference between the Adamic man and the man of today is that the one was born to Paradise and the other has to create it.

I didn't have to think up so much as a comma or a semicolon; it was all given, straight from the celestial recording room. Weary, I would beg for a break, an intermission, time enough, let's say, to go to the toilet or take a breath of fresh air on the balcony. Nothing doing!

No man would set a word down on paper if he had the courage to live out what he believed in.

What have we to offer the world beside the superabundant loot which we recklessly plunder from the earth under the maniacal delusion that this insane activity represents progress and enlightenment?