Every story you tell is your own story.

The role of the artist I now understood as that of revealing through the world-surfaces the implicit forms of the soul, and the great agent to assist the artist was the myth.

The psychotic drowns in the same waters in which the mystic swims with delight.

If there were already a path, it would have to be someone else's; the whole point is to find your own way.

You have been thinking one way. Now you have to think a different way.

Whether you call someone a hero or a monster is all relative to where the focus of your consciousness may be.

The happy ending of the fairy tale, the myth, and the divine comedy of the soul, is to be read, not as a contradiction, but as a transcendence of the universal tragedy of man. The objective world remains what it was, but, because of a shift of emphasis within the subject, is beheld as though transformed. Where formerly life and death contended, now enduring being is made manifest-as indifferent to the accidents of time as water boiling in a pot is to the destiny of a bubble, or as the cosmos to the appearance and disappearance of a galaxy of stars.