The secret, if one may paraphrase a savage vocabulary, lies in the egg of night.

The future is neither ahead nor behind, on one side or another. Nor is it dark or light. It is contained within ourselves; its evil and good are perpetually within us.

It is a commonplace of all religious thought, even the most primitive, that the man seeking visions and insight must go apart from his fellows and love for a time in the wilderness.

As we passed under a streetlamp I noticed, beside my own bobbing shadow, another great, leaping grotesquerie that had an uncanny suggestion of the frog world about it . . . judging from the shadow, it was soaring higher and more gaily than myself. 'Very well,' you will say, 'Why didn’t you turn around. That would be the scientific thing to do.' But let me tell you it is not done ― not on an empty road at midnight.

It is frequently the tragedy of the great artist, as it is of the great scientist, that he frightens the ordinary man.

Tomorrow lurks in us, the latency to be all that was not achieved before.

The secret, if one may paraphrase a savage vocabulary, lies in the egg of night.