The secret, if one may paraphrase a savage vocabulary, lies in the egg of night.
Many of us who walk to and fro upon our usual tasks are prisoners drawing mental maps of escape.
We are one of many appearances of the thing called Life; we are not its perfect image, for it has no perfect image except Life, and life is multitudinous and emergent in the stream of time.
Every man contains within himself a ghost continent.
Modern man lives increasingly in the future and neglects the present.
I no longer cared about survival...I merely loved.