Man is always marveling at what he has blown apart, never at what the universe has put together, and this is his limitation.

The great artist, whether he be musician, painter, or poet, is known for this absolute unexpectedness.

Man is dragged hither and thither, at one moment by the blind instincts of the forest, at the next by the strange intuitions of a higher self whose rationale he doubts and does not understand.

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

Some degree of withdrawal serves to nurture man's creative powers. The artist and the scientist bring out of the dark void, like the mysterious universe itself, the unique, the strange, the unexpected. Numerous observers have testified upon the loneliness of the process.

The iron did not remember the blood it had once moved within, the phosphorous had forgot the savage brain.

To have dragons one must have change; that is the first principle of dragon lore.